#like good god just shut up. go outside. touch grass. speak to real human beings

[the-bjd-community-confess]

TW: Sexualization of (fictional) minors discussion/CSA mentions

Mod: Batch post 2 to help people avoid the topic if needed.

1. Idc, people who don’t dress and photograph YOSDs like children are creepy af. If you’re dressing your YOSD in lingerie that’s weird as hell and gross.

~Anonymous

2. "child sex sells" what the fuck is wrong with you? shut the fuck up. touch grass. see light. no the hell it does not. can you be fucking normal for five goddamn minutes? god just delete tumblr and get the fuck away from this and all other hobbies you are the worst sort of human being and i hope you get the help you desperately need because you are seeing child abuse in everything and that, i promise you, is a freakass problem to have. why are you like this???

~Anonymous

3. did NOT want to read the vomitous take of "ch*ld s*x sells" on the doll blog today!!!

~Anonymous

4. fandoms full of """child abuse"""

hi mod it's me again, i'm sorry in advance but this fucking topic makes me actually furious and as long as the most sheltered infants on earth continue to submit brain-dead takes on this subject, i'm going to keep showing up in your dms. CW for discussion of actual abuse, hard subjects in general, etc.

(i would put the read more here) [Mod: I hope you don't mind this format instead Anon, this confession deserves its own post but I want to shield readers from the topic if possible with the batchposting 💜]

ok but that's just it, as a fucking csa survivor, most of the "fandoms full of CSA" literally! have none of that! whatsoever! in any capacity! you shitty godforsaken little heathens call sfw romance between two fictional teenagers in a tv show incest-coded, you call grown ass-adults in animated works "child-coded" and justify that as the same as goddamn ABUSE OF REAL LIFE HUMAN BEINGS, and you doxx creators and send them death threats and clog up report lines for real life actual human victims about your fictional bullshit. you are the worst and i want you and anyone who reads this and feels offended by this description to know that you are helping no one and annoying everyone.

do you know what real victims are victimized by? not fiction. not any fiction. not inanimate objects! literally write a story about fictional children being victimized for the plot, and it will not hurt me. if it hurts you, fair! stop reading it. go outside. your Personal Discomfort is not you being abused. learn the fucking difference perhaps! it will not make me... do you have any idea how hard it is to talk about this without getting so extremely goddamn personal? do you have any idea how much it sucks to have to have this discussion over and over and over? do you realize that roughly 10 years ago everyone with a braincell agreed on this point and it's only the last decade that people have been so radicalized to think that wrongthink is real? no, of course not, because most of the people who believe that fiction and reality are 1:1 in how one affects the other have no practical experience with any of the subjects upon which they have the audacity to speak.

listen. i am not going to go into my upbringing. i am not going to tell you what it was like to be raised in a household like mine where actual abuse was genuinely normalized. all i will say is that i was raised in a culture where this sort of abuse was normal and certain types of relationships between adults and minors were considered... sanctioned by the powers that be. are you picking up what i'm laying down? do not talk to me about your good intentions. the fucking argument that fictional content, drawings and toys and all that other inconsequential shit, that it's tantamount to a crime? buddy. bestie! amigo! compadre! that's the same logic that was used to make sure my upbringing was as sheltered and controlled as possible so that the "corrupting influences" of the outside world didn't give us the "wrong ideas". like i truly don't know how you did it but you've reinvented the toxic mindset i grew up hearing! and you are completely blind to it. boggles my fucking brain.

i just want to shake the people who say this shit with a straight face. "wow so violent op maybe you're the toxic one" yeah boy i'm toxic i've been in therapy for most of my life and will continue to be until i am dead. the fucking DRAWING CARTOON PORN IS INDOCTRINATING MINORS WRITING StORIES WHERE BAD THINGS HAPPEN IS THE SAME AS HARMING A REAL HUMAN crowd are just the same religious wrongthink crowd with a more recent birth-year and a rainbow hat. "anyone can say anything online i don't believe you" cool i don't give a shit. how do you want me to prove it, doxxing myself? you wanna see the fucking recordings anon? think before you speak. first time for everything.

i like this hobby. i enjoy my dumb little dolls and their stupid little faces, i enjoy the peace in changing their style and redoing their faceups, i enjoy being able to represent a diversity of appearances, identities, to make everyone queer and slutty because i'm making up for the lost time in my life where that was not on the table for me. i do Not fucking relish seeing the braindead anti arguments creeping into this hobby and shitting up another thing that myself and other survivors would like to enjoy in peace and quiet.

so let me tell you, from the bottom of my heart, even though no one who needs to hear it will bother to listen to the words of a survivor because it goes against your superiority complex against those nasty fiction enjoyers:

shut the fuck up.

sincerely, god, everyone, and especially survivors of CSA and other abuse against minors.

~Anonymous

[heartachebf]

theres actually fr no way we’re Really doing the whole “maddie is a bad person/sister” thing again. like. really. is this who we are. now we’re saying maddies bad for the horrible crime of [checks my notes] asking bucks building manager to let her into his apartment. ok. touch grass btw

[smallrainclouds]

Made To Break

Yandere!Hypnos x reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 5k

Warning: Yandere bevaiour, dubcon/noncon, sex in later parts

No beta. Read at your own risk.

A/N: part one of two. Enjoy.

Your father was a fool.

But perhaps You were just as foolish.

💮

When the letter arrived, you couldn't believe that the same man wrote it.

Your father always wrote in neat, tight letters but the letters You got were loopy, large letters that fused together at odd parts.

You sat in your car outside your childhood home. The front yard was nothing but overgrown grass now. You could see the lack of care the home had gotten over the years in the cracks and chipped off paint. The overcast skies and trees with just a few leaves holding on only added to the depressing picture.

You bit your lip as you pulled out your father's letter from your bag.

With shaky hands, you unfolded it again for what must have been hundreds of times.

'My dearest child.

I gave it all up. I have found a way to eternity. But it cost me everything.

Forgive me.

I just wanted to see your mother again.

Father.'

"Madness. Simply mad." You murmured. You could feel the tears welled up in your eyes, you knew your father loved your mom. Her loss had slowly eaten him alive since you were a child.

Now he was just a body in a hospital room. It was unlike any coma the doctors had seen before.

The doctor, an older woman with short gray hair and sharp blue eyes, had felt more like a grandmother than a doctor.

But even with her kind face couldn't soften the blow that your father will likely never wake up again.

You sniffed as you used your hoodie sleeve to rub at your eyes.

"Okay. Okay. You got this. This was your home too." You tried to smooth yourself with little success. With a deep breath for courage, you made your way to the house.

When you got inside the dark house, you stubbed your foot on the piles of books by the door and they promptly fell over into a heap.

"Urg, fuc-owww. Okay, Y/N great start.Just amazing." You pulled out your phone. You could make the numerous texts from your partner-no, now your ex but you just bypass those for the flashlight.

You shone the light around, there was nothing but a big mess. Books and papers had overtaken the house and you can smell the old fast food bags that piled into the corner.

You could see on one wall, writing in wasn't in English and strange markings. A single gold and red eye stared back.

"Fuck."

💮

Hours later, you had made headway in the madness that was now your childhood home.

At least your room had been mostly spared. Only some odd books here and there. And the many, many dried poppies on your floor.

You tossed the broom on the floor as you flop down along with it. You didn't realize how bad it had gotten. You only got your room back to normal, let alone the rest of the house.

Guilt swelled in your chest, you should have been more aware. You knew your dad wasn't the most stable person which isn't good but this was something else.

But…

But...

You had been busy dealing with your 'friends' group, the breakup and the last of your exams.

You covered your face, you already cried three times today and you weren't not about to start again.

Your phone buzzed, and you couldn't stop the laugh. Speak of the devil.

You rolled over to your side and pulled your phone close to you.

You swipe away the message, you were not dealing with any of your former friends right now. Your cheating jerk of an ex could keep them all. You had far more important matters to attend to now.

You opened up the gallery app, you took many photos as you could with the last of the daylight left.

You zoomed in on the writing, you had thought it was nonsense at first but after a few more looks,you could see the repeated words. You just didn't know the language.

There was something deeply wrong in this house. You could swear you could feel something was in there with you. But if friend or foe you weren't sure. You tried not to think about how your only protection was your childhood baseball bat.

But what did your dad do? You normally are able to pick apart what your dad was doing but this was something else unknown. You kept checking the pictures with the creepy red and gold eye in hope of finding something.

Slowly you could feel tiredness sinking in your bones, and before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut.

💮

A warm hand cupped your cheek, and you pressed into it with a sigh. You couldn't remember the last time you were touched so tenderly. You think for a moment it was your ex but they never did that before.

The hand left but then you were lifted up against a warm chest. You heard murmurs as sleep pulled you under again.

💮

Rushing water reached your ears and for a moment, you thought you could hear the sounds of birds.

It took you a moment to notice that you weren't in normal clothes but a tunic that went over one shoulder. You saw a brooch with two wings in its place. You should be more worried but you felt too tired to care.

You turned your head with a yawn. Whose lap were You using as a pillow? Before you could look, a hand covered your eyes.

"Not yet, You still need more time." A man's voice... but You didn't recognize it. You made a questioning sound but he hushed you gently.

"Blood and darkness, you are just as beautiful as I remember."

You reached up and stroked his hand, trying to understand what was going on.

"I don't remember… you." You slurred quietly.

"I know. It's not your fault. All it matters is that I found you again."

His thumb rubbed your cheek, "Now go back to sleep. I will be there soon."

You sighed as you sunk back into sleep.

💮

You stared at your bedroom wall, not able to breathe. There was someone else here and they apparently tucked you in bed, blanket pulled up to your chin and all.

You took a breath and tried to listen to any sounds. You waited, surely you would hear footsteps or something.

But there were no sounds, none at all.

It took all of your nerves to get out of bed. You grabbed your childhood baseball bat, it was small but you could still get a good hit in.

You remembered you left your phone on the ground and turned to look for it. It wasn't there, not on your nightstand or desk.

'Great, some creep definitely got my phone.' you tighten your hold on the bat, and after listening for a moment, you slowly push the door opened.

Without saying a word, you slowly walked out though the house. You were sure you would find out who invited themselves in.

The mess was still the same, the writing on the wall was still there. You went through the house twice and found nothing.

You heard the sound of a single bird singing in the backyard. You followed the sounds, it almost felt like it was calling you.

The bat dropped from your hand and You couldn't stop the tears in your eyes.

The backyard had been overtaken by red poppies, there was almost no grass left. the singing stopped when you stepped outside. But a soft hoot had You stared up into the tree and saw a single little owl stared back at you.

It's eyes were light yellow.

💮

It was late morning now, the overcast skies have darkened and You are sure it will start snowing soon.

You had given up finding your phone. You s out of your bedroom.

"Fine, you can have it! Good luck guessing the password, you jerk!" You shouted into the backyard. There was no response but you didn't expect one. You had already tried to find the owl but it must have flown off.

You couldn't stand the smell of the old food anymore and tossed it. You found some tea that was still good and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil.

You changed out your tight jeans and hoodie for a pair of much more comfortable jeans and an oversize sweater.

Thankfully, like your bedroom, the kitchen was also mostly clean. You found as many candles as you could, which wasn't many. Two kept the kitchen dimly lit.

You checked the light bulbs, nearly all of them had burned out. Just one more thing for you to fix.

You rubbed your face with a sigh, at least all the appliances were working. And you won't have to go without water either.

You flipped through your dad's notebooks in hopes of finding something. It was in the second notebook you finally found a name. It had been underlined and circled.

"Hypnos?" You murmured, "Who the hell is that?" It doesn't sound like a human name you heard of.

You made your tea, tucked the notebook under your arm. After cleaning off the big armchair and side table, You began going through the books in the living room. Nearly all of them were about ancient Greece, which you knew nothing about.

Your eyes went to the wall writings, that would explain why you didn't know any of the words.

Did your dad believe this stuff? You looked down at the open notebook in your lap. You skim some of the pages, the only name that came up was Hypnos.

"The god of sleep, huh?" You looked at the stacks of books. Why would your dad care about some god of sleep?

You keep looking though, and found a basic guide to Greek mythology. You flipped through the pages, "Come on Hypnos babe, where are you…"

You grinned when you saw the name in bold print. You skim past most of the information, but one part caught your eyes.

Despite being considered as a gentle and kind god, he has been known to strike others down. In the death of his lover by a human warrior (whose name had been lost to time) he had caused the world to go into a permanent state of sleep, never to waken again.

Only his mother Nyx, goddess of night, was able to talk him down or fight him depending on the storyteller and restore the world. In oral storytelling that has been recorded, it is said that he still uses dreams in hope of finding his lost love.

"Oh dad. No wonder." Your heart twisted, sad that your dad's last days have been spent on some myth. He must have been so far gone to think any of it was real.

But was he wrong? You stared out the window, knowing there was somehow a field of poppies waiting.

Your gut flipped, and told yourself it was just one of those freakish nature things.

💮

You didn't quite realize when you fell asleep. You sighed when you felt a hand touch your forehead followed by a kiss.

You tried to wake up, but the voice murmured something and you just hummed. Your eyelids are too heavy to open anyway.

When the arms scooped you again, you just sighed and curled against the chest.

💮

You felt soft grass tickle your face. You pushed yourself up quickly. You were in the tunic again and you could see a sea of poppies and other flowers surrounding you.

A thick fog of sleepiness tried to pull you back but you ignored it. Not again, damnit.

You stood up, your legs felt so wobbly like a baby deer. Dispise your best attempt, You fell on your knees, the call to sleep overpowering.

You gasped when a hand covered your eyes. You grabbed his wrist, "No, I don't want to go back to sleep." You could feel the fog of sleep growing stronger. You kicked at his legs but got nothing but air.

"I'm sorry, but not yet." His voice came next to your ear, you could feel his breath on your skin. You tried to move away but you fell against him. Your head lolled upward against a shoulder.

An arm wrapped around your waist and held you firm.

"Soon, I promise. I just have to handle a few more things. I will be here when you wake up." A kiss was pressed against your temple.

You wanted demand for answers but you were already falling back into the darkness.

💮

"Not again." You moaned. You sat up, the blanket pooled in your lap. What in the world was going on?

You were back in the oversize sweater and jeans. You press your fingers against your temple. Those kisses felt so real.

Are you going mad too? Just like your dad? You gulped, feeling so very alone.

An hour later and some crying, You somehow found the willpower to make it out of bed. Snow was falling down now and a healthy inch was already on the ground.

You made it to the living room when you saw him by the window, snow falling down against the glass. His sheer size made the living room seem smaller. He was reading one of your dad's notebooks in one hand, a quill floated around next to him.

Some part of you, deep inside of you knew were looking at Hypnos, God of sleep.

"It's you." Your voice cracked. His shoulders tensed up as he turned. Bright, yellow eyes stared at you. "Oh you were the owl too weren't you?" You said numbly.

He nodded slowly, "You've been crying again." He said concerned, his eyes scanned you up and down. He tossed the notebook to the side as he took a step toward you.

Unable to tear your eyes away, you grabbed for the first thing you could reach, a thick and heavy book. And with all of your strength, you launched it at his head.

"Blood and darkness!" He ducked to the side. You reached for another and hurled it.

"It's you!" You snarled, feeling like a rabid animal. "You did this! What did you do to my dad?! To my fucking phone?!"

The bastard ducked again. "Hey, I didn't do anything he didn't ask for!" He held up his palms, stretched out to show he wasn't a threat.

"I won't hurt you. I would never lay a finger on you, Y/N." His voice was soft, kind like he was dealing with some animal.

You stared for a moment, rage overtaking any sense you had. "You've been the asshole putting me to bed every night." You grabbed another book and hurled it. "How dare you!"

And of course, he sidestepped the book. Which just made you angier.

"I don't care if you're a god. Make my dad go back to normal. Or I will find a way to hurt you somehow!"

"He didn't tell you anything did he?" The god asked, a wry smile on his face. You picked up another book, and he just sighed. "Have you tried aiming? Sounds crazy, I know but maybe you could actually hit me this time?"

"You don't get to be disparaging, not with all the trouble you made for me." You gestured with the book as if it would help make your point.

You stood behind the armchair, using it as a shield. You knew you wouldn't win in a physical fight but you weren't going to make it easy for him.

Hypnos sighed, "No, no you're right. I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his curls, a soft smile on his face.

"I'm happy though, you are still as courageous as you always have been. I wasn't sure what I would find after all this time."

"What are you talking about? I have never seen you before. I think I would remember meeting an ancient god." You snarled, not enjoying whatever game the god was playing with you.

"Most people don't try to fight a god with books, my love. Not even other gods." Hypnos smiled.

"If I had something stronger, I would beat you with that. Be happy that I don't have my bat on me. You still didn't answer anything."

You pointed at the wall with writings. "I want answers and I want them now. You said we met before, when?"

Hypnos was silent, his eyes tracing the words on the wall. He stepped closer to the center of the wall, his fingers traced the words. "So that's where he messed up. I told him to check with me before doing anything." He murmured to himself.

After a moment, he looked at you.

"In your past life, you were going to be my consort. I've been looking for you for a very long time.."

You stared, quiet in your disbelief. He waved a hand toward the wall, "Problem is that the spell got messed up. I think your father was rushing and couldn't finish the spell the proper way. That's why you don't remember anything."

You shook your head, laughing "No, none of this makes sense."

"Y/N, stop hiding behind that ugly chair, and we can talk more about what happened." Hypnos' voice tried to sound calming, but you heard an undercurrent of eagerness. Of hunger to it.

You shook your head, "No, and don't take another step toward me. I can see what you're doing. That lighting thing your fingers are doing, Hypnos." You tighten your grip on the book, cursing yourself for leaving your bat up your bedroom. Not that it would be much better.

Hypnos' fingers abruptly stopped the magic spell. His smile faded and his eyes stayed on you, waiting for your next move.

You eyed him, you haven't been able to land a single hit on him but you didn't see any signs of super speed yet.

You might be able to get out of the house and into the car before he could get you. But what if he just could teleport or something you haven't thought of?

It was a risk you would have to take because since you saw him, he watched you like you were some prey for him and you didn't want to stick around to find out what Hypnos had planned.

The living room front way will be no good but the backdoor was in the kitchen, if you could make that, it would be a longer run but you would have far more chances for escape…

You dropped everything and took off like a shot into the kitchen. You almost sailed into the sink but used the motion for more speed.

You heard Hypnos yelled your name followed by something you were sure was a swear word in Greek.

The yard, full of poppies and snow greeted you, you hissed as your socks got soaked from the snow.

You almost made it to the gate, and past that, you could see your car.

Freedom.

You didn't see the root sticking out of the ground, but you saw it on the way down.

The breath knocked out of you when you slammed into the cold ground and mere seconds afterwards, you felt hands on your shoulders followed by a pressure against your back. Hypnos leaned down, his lips against your ear, and he spoke in must have been Greek.

"No. Nonono." You gasped, fighting for breath but he just shushed you. His fingers brushed against your cheeks almost lovingly.

Your eyelids slided shut.

💮

When you woke up, your fingers were curled against an unfamiliar red blanket. You sighed as your eyes drifted shut, you couldn't remember the last time you felt so….warm and safe.

You heard the sounds of paper moving around and your eyes fluttered open.

Hypnos must have cleared off the sofa and placed you there. You could see the written wall behind him, post-it notes dotted between the words and some of them were covered with lined paper, new words on it.

Hypnos was sitting on the ground, notebooks and paper surrounded him. A quill tip between his teeth, his golden eyes almost glowed in the dim lighting.

It took a moment of staring but you noticed Hypnos's cloak was gone. Your fingers tighten when you realize you were under his cloak. You took a moment to look at him as he kept reading the notebook

While he wasn't the broadest person you've ever seen, there was a solidness to him. You could see the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders. The gold bands he wore only highlighted the muscles.

You tore your eyes away. 'Jerk.' you thought even as your cheeks warmed.

"I don't like you very much." You spoke, voice rough with sleep.

Hypnos looked up to you, not saying anything. He took out the quill and twilled it between his fingers.

You rolled your eyes at him, unmoving your spot under his cloak. He stared, looking thoughtful for a second before he leaned toward you with a wide smile on his lips, "If you don't like me then you should return my cloak."

"No, it's mine now." The words slipped out your mouth before you knew it.

You blinked at his laugh. You thought he would be upset.

Hypnos chuckled fondly, "Word for word."

At your questioning look, he continued.

"You don't remember yet but the first time we met, you were trying to find medicine for humans. I think you were upset at me because you got lost in my cave. I brought you back home and I gave you my cloak so you could get warm."

You sat up against the arm rest, holding on to the cloak. Not ready to give up the feeling of safety yet. You bit your lip, not quite sure what to say.

His eyes glazed over, the quill still spinning between his fingers. His voice turned quiet. "You were so beautiful, so strong, so determined. You fought for humanity, not that they even remember, those worthless animals, the whole lot."

He seemed lost in a memory so you just waited it out, letting him talk.

"You hated the fact I took half of their lives away from them. And that I often took more."

His eyes meet yours, and his whole face softens. You flushed at the realization that you could make him do that, to have that much power over another being let alone a god.

"I couldn't give up the half, it was mine by birthright but I was slower afterward, let them have more time to themselves. And I never took more than half. The only reason I got called a kind god was because of you."

You stood up, still holding on the cloak and walked over to him. His eyes never left you, and you had to tell yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You kneeled next to him and after a second, you reached out to touch his shoulder. You were surprised at how warm he was, how human-like he felt. Maybe you were wrong about him.

"Hypnos. I-I I'm sorry you lost them. I can hear how much you love them, especially after all this time. But I am not whoever you think I-"

"How much I love you." Hypnos interrupted, his hand covered your own. "I never stopped looking for you. I just need more time to fix this." He waved a hand to the wall.

You shook your head, "I am not then though. You are just like my dad, always looking for a person who isn't there."

"No, your father was. The woman who birthed you died and is in the underworld now. You, however, are here in front of me." Hypnos leaned closer, he tightened his hold but it wasn't painful, it was almost comforting. "You are them, your eyes, your lips, your nose even the way you move and talk. You are them, given life again."

"How?!" You said despairing,surely even he could see what nonsense he was saying? "How could a god become reborn as a human? Or even go back to being a god?"

"There are ways. There is always a way." Hypnos replied darkly. He took your other hand and held them between his own warm hands. "You haven't even let me talk to you, to tell you what happened."

"I don't want to." You whispered, "I don't need to know what happened. I just want to know what it will take for you to understand that I am not them."

Hypnos didn't say anything for a few minutes and the silence grew heavy.

"Did he summon you?" You asked, trying not to feel guilty, looking at the swirls of words on the wall, in the middle of the circle was a single red and gold eye staring back.

Hypnos stared at the wall along with you, "He really didn't tell you anything did he?"

You dug out the letter from your front pocket. "This was the last thing he wrote to me. This isn't his normal writing."

Hypnos read the letter, his eyebrows rose and reread it again. "Blood and darkness, what a damn fool."

"Hey, that's my dad you know." You murmured, "Also you guys are both doing the same thing, you with me, and he with my mom."

"No, not nearly the same thing." Hypnos scoffed. You rolled your eyes at his words. You moved on, tired of this fight for now.

"Where did dad get this information anyway?" You asked.

Hypnos sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "From me. I loaned out the books I have for this kind of stuff. He told me that he could handle the translation since it had to be a two person spell, think of it as a bridge, your dad could visit your mom every time he dreamt. But I had to be on the other side to help build it."

"You trusted him? I mean you seem like you don't like humans."

"I didn't. This whole mess just proved my point. But…" Hypnos shrugged, "I knew you wouldn't let me just take you without making sure your dad wasn't alone. I wanted you to want to come back to me, especially after everything I've done."

You brushed your fingers along the cloak, "Are you talking about when you put the whole world to sleep?"

"And most of the gods." Hypnos added. "I still don't remember much of what I did. My mother or brother still hasn't spoken to me since then."

Hypnos looked so worn down, his brow furrowed and you wanted to smooth the stress away from him but you held back. You already let him touch you even if it made you want to run. Toward him or away from him you couldn't say.

"I've been so blinded by the thought of having you in my arms again, I didn't foresee him going rogue on me." He murmured quietly.

Hypnos fixed his gaze on you, but you looked away, cursing the flush on your cheeks.

"I took care of the stuff he wouldn't have been able to do. With the underworld and stuff. But he fucked up, he changed the spell without telling me. And he did it badly. He tried to bring her from the underworld and you can't do that, and now he has to deal with the punishment."

"Well, can't you just erase it? Or do a new spell? I mean, you are a god right? Do you even need this stuff?"

Hypnos slid his fingers under your chin, making you look at him. "Listen to me." His serious tone kept you from pulling away. "No one can't take the dead from the underworld. Not me, not Hades or even my mother. It's the cost of life. Right now, he is being punished for his pride and when he does die, there is a good chance he won't be able to find your mother."

You swallow, your heart breaking, "Is there nothing you can do?"

"I don't know." Hypnos said. "I was already putting my neck on the line just to let them have a link."

"What if I agree to go with you, to see if I am the one you are looking for? I will do whatever you need me to." You asked.

Hypnos didn't respond, his eyes glazed.

"Hypnos, please." You begged, "I can't just let him die like this-"

He spoke finally, "I will talk to Persephone. I can't promise anything. I'm still banned from the house after the 'Great Sleep'."

"Thank you! Thank you, Hypnos." You felt dizzy with relief and hugged him. You squeezed him, and buried your face in his neck. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Hypnos chuckled, his hands on your back,"You might not like what you'll get."

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

You didn’t speak to Sehun as he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine. Hell, you were half tempted to jump out of the car when he’d first rolled onto the grass, but you thought that might be a little overdramatic. Besides, slamming the door to his “baby” as hard as you could was much more satisfying. You caught the flinch as soon as the metal hit and echoed through the building. Yes, satisfying indeed. 

“(y/n)….”

Nope. You were not in the mood to listen to anymore of his doubts or his tries to persuade you out of your opinion. 

Your anger and frustration must have been written all over your face. As soon as Soomi saw your face, she jumped up from the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

You glanced over your shoulder as Sehun’s sour face before replying. “Nothing.”

Clearly ignoring the hint that you didn’t want to talk about it, Soomi looked to the wolf behind you. “What happened?”

“(y/n) thinks she knows who the woman is, but I disagree,” he said in a very simplified version. 

Soomi’s eyes lit up with hope. “You do? Who?”

You swallowed thickly. What if she had the same reaction as Sehun? What if absolutely no one believed you? “I think,” you said quietly, “that it might be Mina.”

“Mina? Dana’s friend? Why?”

“Because she looks like the woman in my visions,” you explained confidently. 

“Whose face you’ve never seen,” Sehun argued as he stepped up next to you, an annoyed glare in his eyes. 

You didn’t even look at him. “No, but I am the one who has had the visions, so I have the clues, as I said before.”

“But there are millions of people with blonde hair and pale skin,” Sehun pushed further. “That’s hardly enough to go by.”

“I don’t know,” Soomi muttered, her eyebrows knitted together as she weighed the issue in front of her. Just when it seemed that you would be on your own once again, she surprised you. “The timing is suspicious. For her to show up now and look so similar….”

“Oh, come on, Soomi, not you, too,” Sehun whined. 

“What’s going on?”

Junmyeon entered with Kita by his side and several others behind him. Why did every little happening in this house have to have an audience?

“(y/n) thinks Mina might be the woman from her visions,” Sehun grumbled. It seemed he, too, was a little irritated at how big this was scene was getting. Since you saw it as his fault, you didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “I’m trying to make her see that there’s no way it could be Mina.”

“You don’t know that,” Hae In interjected. Oh thank god someone had some sense. 

“She’s Dana’s friend.”

“So?” Hae In snapped. “We don’t know her. I’d trust (y/n) over Mina.”

Sehun rolled his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t trust (y/n). Of course I do. But I don’t think we should be jumping to conclusions. Blonde hair and pale skin? That could describe you, Hae In.”

“Maybe it is me,” she smirked. “Maybe I got sick of you and decided to form a rebellion and take (y/n) with me.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Baekhyun muttered. 

“Kyungsoo would kill you if he heard that,” said Jongin. 

Luhan shrugged. “I doubt it. He’s not a big fan of Mina either.”

“But Mina is still Dana’s friend,” Kimberly argued. “I don’t think we should be singling her out off of circumstantial evidence.”

“Another wonderful sentence from the future crime reporter,” Jongdae grunted. Jongin didn’t take too kindly to the remark, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Junmyeon barked. Shifting his attention to you, he said in a calmer voice, “(y/n), thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll keep a close eye on Mina. I’ll go call Kyungsoo. It’ll be difficult, but he should be able to keep this from Dana for the time being. We don’t want to cause her unneeded stress.”

You nodded, accepting that answer for now. It felt nice that you were being taken seriously by at least one of the alphas. But that didn’t make the initial betrayal hurt any less. 

Pushing past the crowd, you took the stairs two at a time until you reached the second floor in record time. You should have known better than to try and use this place as an escape, but there was no turning back now. 

“Hey, wait-”

“I don’t feel like talking to you right now.” You tried to open the door to the bedroom, but Sehun put his hand over yours, holding it shut. Damn the contact, you snatched your hand away. You were sure the boys used the hormonal seizure that happened in the mates’ body at the skin to skin contact to their advantage. This would not be one such occasion. Not on your watch. 

“Well, I do,” he grunted as he pushed himself between you and the door. 

“Unless it’s a genuine apology, I don’t want to hear it.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry that I can’t believe that it’s Mina.”

“Wrong kind of apology.” You tried to shove passed him, but the big lug wouldn’t budge. 

Sehun roared. “Why are you so difficult?”

“Why can’t you just trust me?” you fired back. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you! I just don’t want you to jump to conclusions!”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions, I’m following the clues!” You wanted to rip your hair out. Why wouldn’t he just take you at your word? “I can’t change what I saw in my visions!”

Sehun shook his head defiantly. “Sometimes I really hate that you have those.”

Knife? Meet heart. 

Yes, you hated them sometimes, too, but at the end of the day they were still apart of you. They were a part of your gifts – gifts that frustrated you and put you on the outside, but still yours. You couldn’t get rid of them, you couldn’t just make them stop, so you accepted them. It was one thing for you to have animosities about the visions, it was another for him to. Saying that he hated your visions made you feel like he hated a part of you. Those visions were the reason you were here in the first place. They were what brought you to the farmhouse where you could meet this so-called love of your life. This was the man who was supposed to stand by your side and accept every part of you. Apparently, nice things didn’t last too long in your life. 

“Excuse me, then, I’ll just turn them off for your convenience.”

Sehun groaned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what could you have possibly meant, Sehun? Huh?” You didn’t really give him a chance to reply. “Why don’t you just admit that being mated to me wasn’t all you thought it would be?”

Sehun’s eyes widened in shock. “(y/n), where is this coming from?”

 A million little facets of insecurity and doubt, that’s where. But you decided to throw his behavior in his face instead. That was a less vulnerable - and not as truthful - “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that you’re fine until the topic of my powers come up. Then you start acting weird and change the subject. Everyone else wants to see them, but you just sit there with this sour frown on your face. You used to be fascinated by it too, you know.” Tears pricked at your eyes. Fantastic. There was no way for you to hide them, so you just let them collect and pool. “You used to stare at me in awe when I used my powers. It’s part of why I fell for you in the first place, before knowing I was your mate. But now I just feel like a burden to you.”

“You have never been a burden, (y/n).”

“But it’d be easier, right?” you snapped back. “Now that the shine is gone, it’d be easier if I were normal, boring human like the others, wouldn’t it? Less complicated that way?”

At first, he said nothing. He stared at you with his mouth pressed in a tight line, the same look he always had when he was thinking hard. His hesitation wasn’t doing your self-esteem any favors. Air blew out of his lungs, ending the pause. 

“Yes, it would be, but-”

You shook your head almost violently. “No, thanks. I don’t need any explanations. Not from you.”

“(y/n), listen to me-”

Slam! You’d made it to the bathroom down the hall and locked the door behind you before he could even finish his sentence. 

You hated him. You hated him more than the ones who used to torture and bully you for being different, for being more. It was idiotic to feel accepted and at peace around him. You’d settled into content and it’d blown up in your face. He’d backed away as soon as things didn’t line up for him perfectly. 

“(y/n)! Open the door, please! Just let me explain!”

No. He didn’t give you the benefit of listening to your suspicions, why should you listen to him now?

You didn’t yell at him to go away or to shut up or any words at all. Instead, you sat there on the cold tile silently, legs folded and back against the wooden door. Each time Sehun knocked against the thin barrier with his fist, you felt the vibrations through your shoulder blades. Still you didn’t moved. 

Eventually he gave up and you listened to his footsteps fade away through the hall and down the stairs. 

Now would have been the time to cry. Now would have been the time to let out all the tears. The wall of hurt that had built up inside you, each brick of molded out of the words and doubt given by Sehun, would easily come crashing down upon if you simply tapped on it with your finger. But you never touched it. 

Sitting there you were just… existing. Time no longer felt real the longer you stayed in that small room. You could almost imagine yourself living inside a bubble connected to another dimension, another world. If only you could really escape to another place and no longer have to deal with the happenings of this place. But that wasn’t possible. Even magic had its limitations. 

But you could do something. 

You needed space. You needed to get away, have some time to yourself, and maybe even find some proof that you weren’t crazy. Maybe if you could connect more dots between the visions and Mina, you could-

You weren’t sure what you wanted at this point. To be right? To get back at Sehun? There was no telling what currently drove you. 

Leave. Now. 

It almost felt like a whisper in your ear, urging you to get up and go, to not waste time, but no true source could be found for the urge. 

Taking a risk, you peeked out the bathroom to check that the coast was clear before scurrying to the bedroom. You didn’t stuff much into Soomi’s knapsack she packed for emergencies as you figured you’d only be gone for a day or so. It was fully your intention to be back before the blood moon. So with the pull-string bag slung over your shoulder, you checked the hallway once again and headed back for the bathroom. 

You knew that your best bet of getting away was to make them think that you were still locked away in the bathroom throwing a tantrum. So you headed back, locking the door once again as quietly as you could before going over to the window.

The drop didn’t seem that bad, but it would have been dumb to jump and hope for the best. To your luck, however, there was a bush off to the side. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the leaves and branches of the plant, imagining them growing and expanding into a pad that was safe to land on. By the time you opened your eyes, your imagination had become reality. 

You gritted your teeth as you swung a leg over the sill. And then another. 

Were you really about to do this?

Sehun’s face floated in your mind. 

Yes. Yes, you were. 

Shoving off, you twisted your body so you landed on the oversized bush on your side, rolling off the branches and landing a bit hard on the grass beside it. But you didn’t have time to think about the pain as you jumped up to your feet and ran for the forest. Breathing grew difficult the farther you pushed yourself. However, slowing down was not an option. 

The closer you made it to the treeline, the more your determination grew. You were going to show him and you were going to do it on your own. 

**

Sehun sat at the breakfast booth, staring at the glass of alcohol he’d poured with himself. He hadn’t touched it. The ice was melting and small dots of condensation were building up on the side of the cup, sliding down the surface before pooling on the table top. He’d poured it more out of habit, like a ritual that would suddenly make him feel better. But he knew that was a crock. The only thing that would make him feel better would be you talking to him again. 

He knew he messed up. He should have just kept his mouth shut no matter what he thought. How could he explain that he didn’t sense any danger from Mina and that’s why he didn’t think she was behind the coming danger? Wolves had a knack for this sort of thing. 

In the end, he figured that you needed space. After you’d calmed down, you’d let him explain what he meant by the words he’d said. Especially the stupid response to you being a witch. 

He loved that you were different. He loved that you grew up in the same world as he did. It was a connection that was missing from the other couples. But you didn’t know how worried he was. You didn’t know that the reason he made that face every time you used your powers in front of the guys was because he was worried about you. He worried about you losing control and hurting yourself.

The fire still haunted him, even though he’d never admit it outloud. He’d been able to sense the danger and make it to before the flames got out of control, but who could say he could it again? He needed to protect you. It was his very instinct.

He wouldn’t change a single thing about you. And you needed to know that. 

Sliding out from the booth, Sehun headed back up the stairs. It was worth another shot getting you to talk to him. 

With an unsure fist, he knocked against the door. “(y/n)?”

No answer. 

He tried the handle, but it was still locked. So you were still in there. “(y/n), can we please talk now?” You still didn’t reply. Wow. You were really going to keep going, weren’t you? “Okay, fine. Keep the door between us, but please listen. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t want to rush to judgement. Dana’s been through… a lot. And Mina’s been her closest friend for years. I didn’t want to ruin that without being absolutely sure. Of course I trust you. I know that you’re the only one who has seen - well, what you’ve seen.”

Still nothing. What was he going to have to do to hear your voice again? Keep apologizing was the only thing he could come up with. 

“And… I know that you said you didn’t want to hear anymore excuses, but I have to say it. I don’t care that you’re a witch - no. I love it. I love how special you are. I wouldn’t change that at all. It- It’s just complicated. If you were human, I could protect you differently. I could make sure that you’re out of danger. But with as powerful as you are, I know I can’t keep you out of the fight. I can’t sideline you like Evie or Jiyeon or Kita. And… I’m scared. I’m scared to death to lose you. But I think I might have done that anyway.”

He waited. With no air leaving or entering his lungs, he waited. But no response to his confession came. In fact, no noises whatsoever came from the bathroom. Now that he was concentrating, he realized that not even your heartbeat was reaching his ears. 

“(y/n)!” 

Screw propriety. Kicking his foot out, he broke the lock and swung the door open. 

It was empty.

[gav-san]

White as the Driven Snow

-Wash-

1/7

------

You wondered how long it had been since you had seen the sky. Or breathed fresh air (and not the sharp ventilated afterbite of it). It was too long since you held felt the prickly blades grass between your toes or the wind fluttering your hair. Too long since you had seen the sun.

Your skin had once held a rosy glow but now was reduced to a sickly shade. This seemed supremely ironic as being locked away underground was supposed to prevent the grime and grit that the world above offered. But like a child picking up a dirty lollipop of the street, some things couldn't be prevented by you alone. Not that you would scream. No one would hear you, and at this point, you wondered if anyone good was even looking.

Your mother never exactly revealed why you weren’t allowed to meet her side of the family (totally understandable in retrospect), and your dad had been remarried after your mother’s death. Now all of that growing apart and not calling much was going to get you killed. 

But even if your life had been truly unfair in many respects, there were a lot of good things going on. You were in your second year of college, part of your college’s cheer squad, famous for performing at the UA sports festival, and had lots of friends.

This was not the slightest bit fair.

The slightest uncareful sound from your lips could cause these monsters to descend again, but not for any rational sort of torture. These masked creatures with false beaks were a special sort of savage. Clean wasn’t good enough for the plague doctors.

You needed to be spotless. Pure.

Ever since they had invaded the safety of your home, kidnapping you, all they murmured about was making you pure enough.

You hated that word.

You weren’t sure what the correct definition of Pure meant, but you soon got a dark idea of what it entailed.

Stolen, you had imagined many horrors. Human trafficking was not common in Japan, but it did happen. Girl shackled to beds, placed on drugs so they could neither escape mentally or physically. The plush doctor’s office didn't entirely fulfill that morbid fantasy. And upon waking, it took hours to connect the dots. Not until the female doctor with a large wart on her cheek gave you the worst surprise appointment of your life, did you fully realize how twisted the situation was. You didn't speak, trying to pick up on any fragment of conversation.

But all you heard were mutters of Overhaul, requests, Hassaikai, and those meant nothing to you.

Strapped up by one of the ‘expendables’ as they called themselves, you were subjected to several cosmetic procedures, some dangerous, teetering between being vaguely awake and unconscious. You finally break, begging for an explanation, and receive none, just a gag accompanied by a breathing mask. The woman examined you from head to toe, removing moles, and just so much touching. Lasik, teeth whitening, minor surgery, freckle removal, chemical peels, and microdermabrasion. She probably had some sort of medical quirk, because you should not have been able to do so much so quickly. Any hair specifically not on your head was lasered off, and your skin scrubbed and polished with creams that removed any hint of spots or blemishes.

The last memory in that awful office was of a large needle, and finally, through the cloth in your mouth, did you screech.

You awoke out of the drugged stupor with breathing mask strapped on you. No longer strapped down you quickly sat up, but didn't tear it off. You could feel the heaviness in your chest, and waited a long while, trying to take in your surroundings before doing anything rash. Your mother, long paranoid of some monster sweeping you away, had taught you to remain calm in an emergency. The long white dress you are in is light, and cool air pierces it easily from the air conditioning in the ceiling. The bed is screwed to the ground, and so you can't even adjust it away from the airflow.

The whitewashed room was small, featureless save for a large TV embedded behind glass in the far wall. The bare outline of a door was next to it, and it looked so much like a mental ward that panic did fill you. What had happened? Surely you had never done anything to warrant this! You tried to think of what had happened... Your last memory wasn't so clear, just you sitting at the dorm room kitchen counter, eating cereal. There was a knock on the door, strange as most people are on spring break. Perhaps a roommate got locked out? You opened the door, and then it was nothing... just black.

Clarity and an explanation don't come quickly.

Your only link to the outside world is the instructions that occasionally flash on the TV.

EAT. Meals appear on cue, painfully scanty and light.

SLEEP. The bare light on the ceiling goes out.

EXERCISE. You are not a lazy person. You had been on the Mustafar University Cheer team, taking tumbles, dancing and flirting riotously at events. But they don't care about your muscles and refusals. They want you thin, not fit. With a diet that rivaled celebrities and daily exercise routines, your body became slender and lean.

The day SHOWER appeared on the screen, you were perplexed. They had left you to sit in your filth and sweat for days, so the change in routine was sharp.

You didn’t have a shower in the room, and so the moment the door opened you got a real look at the monsters who moonlighted your nightmares.

It's another woman, with ugly, bulbous eyes and arms that twisted into tentacles as the elbow. Someone who would be bullied. Some quirks were worse than none. An ugly retort was on your tongue but as she lumbered forward, something black and viscous dripping from her body, you zipped your lips shut. A large, bird mask lay on her features, the beak twisted and unfriendly, like a toucan with a disease.

Down flat empty halls with no windows, she led you to a bathroom contained the most high-powered torture device spray possible. Brutal water pressure and you discovered one of the guards was female, as she was the one who forced you in, sprayed you down, and stuck soap all over you, all while telling you how fortunate you were. Apparently, your mother happened to be the second child of a prominent mobster, and the current head was looking for someone in the family to marry and continue the bloodline. You earned a slap when you suggested that your dog was still single. She told you since you were quirkless, you might as well be a dog.

You didn’t know how much more you could take. Any more showers and ritualistic cleanings by people with gruesome quirks who refused to look at you for long, only scrubbing when you have been insufficiently rubbed raw.

The smell of disinfectant and whatever was in the awful shampoo was all you smelled anymore, and they used something similar for laundry, done daily, if not more often. Was there a thing as too clean? You had never been dirty but this was an obsession. They were a cult of cleaning fanatics, and your body was their fixation. The mere white dress was your only article of clothing.

Even if you still had the strength to fight, the red reminder on your skin still stung from the decontamination chamber (what as you had named it). The tips of your fingers were still shriveled and pruned from grabbing the bottom of the shower. There was no more fight on you tonight, just the little desire to sleep.

Which is why you almost broke into sobs when the door opened again. She was back.

“The boss is coming tonight for final evaluation. We need to finish making you presentable.” 

“How  thoughtful.”

“Watch your mouth. Overhaul has little patience, and even if you share blood with the old boss, he will finish you himself.” She didn’t slap you. Instead, she just gazed at you with dark, hateful eyes.

“Is that his name then?  Overhaul?”  This earned a smack.

“You will treat Master Overhaul as a god. For all intents and purposes, he is one.” She carefully wrapped you in one of her clean tentacles. You didn’t get the heavy bath treatment, and you realized that she was being unusually considerate as she ushered your down endless long hallways. At the end of one, she opened a door and your eyes widened. 

Did it look like... a beauty parlor? In a mafia hideout? 

Not totally new, but spotless, and utterly white like everything else. There was a nervous-looking woman there to transform you was in all white as well. You looked at her, and she turned away, unable to look you in the eye. You turned to a mirror and didn't question why.

“Make her pretty. Try not to use much makeup. The boss has no patience for unclean things, so nothing with a heavy scent either.”

The technician went to work. There was the first hint of color as she opened her bag, glorious colors of tan, orange, brown and off white. The fierce smell of a beauty salon escaped and for a moment you were outside again. It made the next bit bearable, the part where she painted you, fixed your hair, and made your look alive. Unwilling to drag the terrified looking technician further into the delusion, you didn’t fight her. 

As she finished curling your hair, you glanced at the mirror, to see how she had done. What you had seen in the mirror for twenty years was gone, replaced by an almost photoshopped version of you. Real people didn’t look so strange. It wasn’t you.

A huge wave of nostalgia and misery hit you, bringing tears to your eyes. You desperately wanted your couch, sitting and watching some reruns of CSI or something normal. You just wanted to be normal again, eat ramen and wear your hair in a ponytail and enjoy the sun. Now pretty, clean and polished, you were given another white dress, this one much more fitted than the smock you had been in. Forced into the snug creation you were dragged to the last room.

You weren’t this woman in the mirror. You didn’t diet to be this thin or have hair this color or have eyelashes this long. This was a lie. And after the tears subsided, your only slim comfort was that it would be over soon. It was coming, the moment you couldn't do it anymore.

Mob blood withstanding, you were a bit mouthy, and that never boded well for you around people who had large egos. You had already lost several jobs and were barely funding your college tenure with your latest one at a bookstore. Well... had. It was just so unfair. 

A bitter thought kept coming to you, over and over. 

Where were the heroes?

The tentacle around you tightened.

“Don’t cry. I’ll get angry if you mess it up.” You sniffed, anger coursing through you. Who did these people think they were? If you were going down, you decided that they were all coming with you.

  The end of the line was one last room, generously sized, but filled. Rushed in by the tentacle woman, you still had time to see the final set-up. There were several other women here, all dressed the same as you. Each with their own handlers, each looking upset and panicked as the situation rightfully called for, each sitting tied to a chair, hands tied behind them. They looked to you, eyes wide and fearful, and you gazed back, understanding and upset.

You were led to the end, the last seat available, and forced into the same position. And then the entire group waited, and not a single soul uttered a word. Their handlers had beaten obedience into them. Well, for the moment.

The slowly growing dread that was starting to eat away at your nerves, and it was only a matter of time. Someone finally broke down, the girl with pink hair at the other end, a sob erupting. It was followed by a hard slap, and the sounds of a rag being stuffed in her mouth. She choked on the vile cloth, but finally managed to calm down, her 'handler' swearing viciously at the mess. 

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes. Two more girls broke. They both received a rag in their mouths.

Thirty minutes. 

Fourt-

 The door opened.

 In a world rife with quirks that deform and mutate it isn’t unusual to see people who are suffering from the backlash of horrendous deformation and downright disability. It was almost as common as not for someone to be born with pink or green hair, then just brown or blonde. You hadn't given much thought to who are the monsters behind this desecration of women is, but you are sure he is no catch. How could someone who is so merciless to a potential wife be anything but ugly?

The other girls are curious as well, and you see eyes struggling to stay down. But caution is hardly going to help at this point, so you glance up. And before your head is shoved down, into your knees, you catch a glimpse of a pale face, delicate shaped, and exquisite amber eyes pointed away in disgust. Your chest feels an uncomfortable weight as you realize that not only ugly men are monsters. Even handsome men with glossy, golden eyes can be them, and the color sticks in your eyes, burning them. It’s not even an uncommon color, yet paired with black lashes and a narrowed expression, they appeared to be glowing. All of this is topped off with a bird mask.

No, you tell yourself, this must be the son of the man.

After a moment your thoughts return, enough to hear the sound of the man's measured steps, hurried and impatient. They come near, examining each downturned head, and you wonder if he can even see your faces. You can only see the faint image of your plucked face in his shiny leather shoes that appear in your downturned vision. You faintly register a second pair of shoes that follow, light as a child, but don’t see anyone.

“Repulsive. They’re all filthy.” He says, and you realized that this is the boss. There's no mistaking it. This was the guy with the phobia. It shocks you, as mob bosses were never this young, handsome or disgusting... right?

You don’t know his age, but his voice can’t be over thirty. It's something from a well to do accountant, not firm and deep like an evil All Might, but almost cracking and boyish. But such a mild voice wasn’t running off numbers. Just contemplating just how unworthy you all were. Obviously, the group hasn’t made a good showing. You can’t bring yourself to care anymore. All rational emotion has left you discontent, and needing a drink of water.

A high voice answers the boss, some lacky, probably with a crap quirk.

“These are the best we could find. Each is from an aligned mafia family, and most are quirkless. If not, well, that’s always fixable.”

One of the girls sobs through the napkin in her mouth, and you can imagine the anger in his glowing topaz eyes.

“You think any of these creatures are worthy of being next to me. Look at them. They are shaking. A disobedient woman is just as bad as a being  unclean.” The boss says flatly. "Where's Chronostasis-"

A monster with a cleaning disorder, and a bigot. He's talking like it's your fault, that you were here by choice, and your chest fills with a disdainful, mocking swearword. Unable to contain your utter vitriol as the absurd conversation, you wheeze out a  laugh. Well, at least it wasn’t the swearword, you think fatefully.

The room goes deathly quiet.

The other women are quiet, knowing you have just signed your death warrant, the first of the day. The leather shoes had retreated out of sight, but the sound of them returning is ominous. Not only that but the hand on the back of your head has twisted you forward painfully. She's very upset, you guess. The position is bad, and your lungs struggle to function properly. Tears pool in your eyes, and the makeup in coming off. Your hands strain, trying to escape the bounds. Your accompanying cough does nothing to improve your case. If there was ever a sign of uncleanliness, you’ve displayed it. Perhaps all those freezing cold showers had, ironically, gotten you sick.

One moment you are coughing to death, the next you are on the ground, the chair under you cracking into a million pieces. The surprise takes the air out of your lungs, and you manage to stop coughing. Your hands are freed, though still tied together, and wood in poking your back. Your dress rides up dangerously to your thighs.

None of this matters as much as the hands that are firmly around your throat. Small ones. For on top of you is what looks like a stuffed puppet come to life, a bird mask attached to his front. The top of the beak is dangerously positioned over your throat, weirdly strong for being a puppet. You laugh again, hysterical, and he drags your throat up.

“How  dare you insult Overhaul!” He says, and you slowly blink the mascara away, senseless.

The puppet turns up, glowering. The tentacle woman is in trouble. 

“Who is this creature who you have brought?!?!” The masked woman is pressed against the wall, sweat pooling around her face. Her tentacle hands are gripping the wall. “We  instructed you to only bring the best!” His hand is getting tighter, and your already strained breathing is getting even harder.

“She’s the old bosses granddaughter, from his estranged second daughter.” The woman whispers, frightened to death.

There's an audible pause. 

  “Mimic. Don’t kill her just yet.” The voice of the boss says, breaking the silence. The hand around your throat loosens, just a touch.

“She’s..." The words seem to fail the creature named Mimic. "Her? His granddaughter? The one?”

The handler nodded, and Mimic's hand is suddenly gone from your throat. You breathe in that overly sterile air, unsure of what had just happened. Had you been saved from death? You slowly sit up, coughing violently in your sleeve, and once the attack is over, you look around you.

The other girls and their handlers are gone.

Before you is a pair of black slacks, and you can see the expensive fabric he's wearing, though his ankles are bare between his white shoes and the pants. Your eyes trail up, slowly taking in the man before you, hitting the thick brown belt, hands in white gloves, a green parka with a purple color, until you see a mask that belongs 1656 and resolutely look down. You don't want to see his eyes again.

You have the undivided attention of Overhaul, who is giving you a similar appraisal, taking in the softness of your mouth, a slender tilt of your shoulders, the curve of your waist under the dress.

You wondered if he would lift his foot and crush your skull in himself, or if he saved that sort of thing for his cronies. 

A hand reaches out and not aware enough, you don't flinch. The plastic glove encasing his hand brushes your cheek, coming away with black and tan makeup. He brings it up to examine it himself, putting two fingers together to rub the colors together.

"My apologies. I didn't realize that you had come." You aren't sure what to say to such unhinged civility he provided. "It looks as though your stay here has been less than what is demanded."

You aren't looking up, so you don't see that his gaze has turned away from you, twisting to the woman on the wall behind you. You don't even realize it's happened until it's over. One moment the mob boss is standing before you, the next he has moved beside you, hand clutching the handler who had done little to gain your favor. But you don't realize that your silence is enough to sentence her.

You look over just in time to see him holding her.

As his hand squeezes the trainer’s face the woman just...  explodes.

Blood, organs, and sick flesh litter the room behind him, and your eyes widen in disbelief and disgust. Red drops hit your white dress and your feet move before you can think. Fear floods you, the ache in your back fades to a thrum as you scramble up, standing next to the door, trying to open it. It is shut like it never was meant to be opened in the first place. You glance back to him as he is straitening his stance, looking furiously animalistic at the mess he has made.

But upon hearing your cry of fear, the sound of your nails against the door he seems to regain sense.

He straightens, walking forward to the door, his one, plastic-covered hand placed on it. He's boxed you in, and you are forced to stare at his mask, refusing to look in his eyes. Never look into the eyes of a wild animal.

"It seems as though you will need some adjustments. Your mother has done you a disfavor." He doesn't explain himself, just raising a bloody hand to raise your chin. You don’t break into tears, just close your jaw so your teeth stop chattering, refusing to look him in his eyes. You can see that perhaps it's not just a mental disorder, as his skin has broken out into hives where the blood has touched, red angry boils that marr his pretty face.

He puts a plastic-encased finger to your lips. Nothing happens. 

“Acceptable. If just  barely .” It’s a threat and a promise rolled into a proposal you couldn’t refuse. 

Read more at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353212/chapters/50860795

[for-bucks-sake]

Underwater.

Pairing: Stucky x Reader Word Count: 4.5K. I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Warnings: Angst, Endgame Spoilers, general sadness? Characters death. That’s it probably. Summary: For the past five years, Y/n has been holding her breath.  A/N: Idk man, I want to thank everyone who read Missing Is a Recurring Theme. I was overwhelmed by the comments so just,,thank you! Currently working on part two (get ready for fluff!) But for now, this was requested by the lovely @fandomnerdxox. Hope you love angst, because that’s what this fic is all about. Hope you like it! 

Her lungs were filled with dust. She could tell. Unable to expend them enough to take a breath, ribcage staying painfully small. “Bucky?” She called, maybe yelled. Nothing was clear anymore. Not even the air.

The fighting stopped all at once, there was a shift in the atmosphere, like the universe itself sensed something has gone terribly wrong. She stopped running when a Wakandan soldier reached for her, hurt, looking distressed as he tried to come closer, his back bent.

She swallowed, the urged to find her partners almost overpowering her instincts to help the man. She took his hand nevertheless, holding it tight in hers and pulling him up. She glanced to the sides, forever searching with her eyes familiar figures, when she felt the man slipping from her touch; “Are you oka-“ y/n looked back just in time to witness him disintegrating in front of her eyes, warm human flash crumbling in her grip, nothing left but dirt.  

She gasped, nearly falling back. Her eyes widened in panic as she finally started to notice more and more people dissolving into thin air.

Y/n ran. “Steve!” Knowing it’s too late. But she ran. “Bucky!” The field was too big to cover on foot. But she ran.

There was a long leg clothed in navy blue uniforms, scattering into invisible particles. Wind spreading them all over two silver, Vibrenium made shields, That’s when she stopped.

“No.” She choked, vision clouded, not even registering the chaos she walked right into.

A single, large, sniper rifle abandoned on the grass, inches away from where the leg was no longer. “No.”

It can’t be. It can’t. Not them, it can’t be them.

She collapsed to the ground, the weight of her injuries finally hitting her fully;

“I can’t breathe.” She panted, holding her sore throat desperately, starving for oxygen,“I can’t breathe.”

-

Loneliness is a funny thing. You could be lonely for years, decades, even. And never once notice it. You could live content with what you have, not even wondering about what you might miss. That’s when life tricks you. It lures you into tasting it, like a pinch of salt you bake inside a cake, bringing the sweetness out. Life places it on your tongue, melting it away into your bloodstream, changing you forever so you will never be the same. And then, they wait.

Wait in the shadows, until they think you’re too used to it, until they decide you don’t deserve it anymore. So they take it. Snatch it from between your fingers with brutal force, leaving you alone, bare, unworthy.

Funny may not be the accurate word, no. But all the other words she thought of to describe her situation were too tragic. So she sticks with funny.

-

Nat asked her to move back to compound today.

Y/n said no, of course. Not even remotely considering this as an option, furious at Natasha that she did. It got heated quickly, on her part, mostly.

She was alone all her life. Both of them were before the universe was vicious enough to give a meager taste to the starved.  She thought maybe Nat, could understand.

Y/n didn’t want to move in. Waking up to the sound of Natasha trying to save a world that already lost. Listening to her secretly wiping about what Clint has become. She didn’t want to do that. Y/n had enough shit to deal with on her own.

She finally reached her front door, fumbling with her keys, groaning as the jingling continued because she couldn’t find the right one, hands still shaking from anger.

“Did you know how quickly smell fades away?” Nat’s hair was longer, red color vibrant than ever. It suited her.

“I’m sorry?” Confusion replaced Natasha’s fading smile,

“Smell.” Y/n stressed, “of people, I mean. When they’re not here to renew it, it just disappears. Dissolves into the air, like it was never there.” She refused to sit, not once stopping to chip on her nails.

“Are you okay? Y/n, I’m starting to w-“

“Especially with clothes.” She frowned, burring her hands inside the pocket of her oversized leather jacket, changing her mind right after, bringing right hand fingers to her lips instead,  “you know, I tried keeping their clothes in the closet, I thought maybe, it will help preserve the smell. But it was all bullshit. Turns out I just missed about a year of their scents. When I opened it, it was barely there.”

Natasha remained silent, too alarmed to speak. Y/n accepted it as an invitation to continue her ramble.

“I was so angry, you won’t believe.” She laughed bitterly, “At myself of course, like, I could’ve googled it or something, but I didn’t. So I don’t have much to go with now.” Y/n continued, either going through an aneurism, a fit, or finally losing her mind all together, doing so hysterically right in front of Nat.

Natasha left her chair, walking towards y/n as carefully as she would approach a wounded predator.

“Listen to me, it’s going to be fine.” She cringed at her own words, feeling terrible at making people feel better. Steve was great at it, he always knew what to say and when to say it. Surly if he returned to give an advice, it would’ve calmed down his grieving girlfriend.

Natasha was relieved to be her only audience, if anyone else was seeing her state she would get a fast pass to a psych ward. Nat knew she wasn’t crazy, just…hurting.

“Yeah. yeah,” y/n dismissed her, swinging her hand, “anyway, that’s my way of telling you I can’t move here.” She finally sat down, leaving Natasha facing the wall. She turned around.

“Why not?” She said carefully, crossing her arms, “the thought of you all alone is- .”

“I don’t mind being alone.” Y/n cut sharply the kind words directed to her,

“do you?”

She finally managed to find the right one, shoving the key to its lock and twisting. She pushed the door with her shoulder, dropping her small bag to the floor.

Five years had gone and she still wasn’t used to the unnatural silence.

The blinds were shut, the air didn’t move, and for a second she could believe that time actually stopped.

Y/n inhaled deeply, standing still in the middle of the room, not daring to make a sound - maybe time did stop. She jumped when a car honked outside. A loud, ear cutting sound that tore her ruthlessly from her bubble.

She blinked, as if waking up from a deep slumber, realizing her precious reality was nothing but a dream.

That’s how she felt everyday, if she was being honest. Sometimes their touch felt more like a delusion than a memory. Sometimes, metal hand and starred chest turning into dust were just a horrifying nightmare. Sometimes, two purple, ugly fingers snap themselves together was just a fucked up hallucination. Sometimes, the existence of two, perfect men, reciprocating the strong, burning love she felt was just too hard to believe.

Nothing was real anymore.

Y/n walked into the bedroom, grabbing the white bottle of aspirin from her bedside table and swallowing down two. It was an exhausting day.

Her head met the sagging pillow with a soft thud, unlike most days, sleep came quickly, and with a flutter of her eyelashes, she was already gone.

He was so handsome with that beard. It was really impacting her ability to focus.

“Hi, ms. Astronaut!” Steve called her, golden fragments of light dancing in his eyes, “your pretty dreamy looks won’t help you on the battlefield.”

“Really? So you’re just that good at punching people?” She smirked, adjusting the straps of her sports bra, “no staring at your enemies with those baby blues until they beg for mercy?”

He caught her off guard, using her shoulder to hoist himself up and tackle her ankles from the back. She hit the soft padding embarrassingly easily, Steve not even giving her the time to react.

He offered a strong hand, swinging her off the ground like she weighs nothing when she took it. He smiled at her, eyes a brilliant cerulean- “ready to beg for mercy yet?”

Y/n huffed and hit his shoulder, “not a chance.” She paused, tightening her ponytail, returning to starting position, “now explain to me how to block it.”

Suddenly, her scenario dusted away in a disgusting black ash, swirling around her body, ruthlessly throwing her into a field.

She started running. She didn’t know where she ran, but it felt like she’s been there before; sounds and smells familiar, recognizing the path to god-knows-where as her legs kept carrying her.

A more clear image started to form, the sky bore lightning but it was warm outside, faceless monsters with sharp teeth and slick skin tried to attack her but only went through. Y/n was starting to realize where she was; it was their last fight against Thanos, and she got another chance.

Running was a part of her by now. Unable to stop or slow down, one mission in mind. Looking for a reflection of the sun on metal, or just the eyes of two bearded men before they disappear for good.

She heard them calling for her, loud and clear, two voices she hasn’t encountered for a long time, yet will never be able to forget.

“Bucky?” She screamed, this time she has to find them, she has to, “Steve? Where are you? Steve, Bucky!”

The tears woke her up, cheeks stained and breaths that were no longer under her control, hasty gasps that choke her up instead of supplying oxygen.

She was so close this time.

Her body shook violently, trembling with fear and drenched in cold sweat. The headache she had when she fell asleep was worse now, an echoing sting compressing her brain every time her heart beat.

It wasn’t just her failed attempt to say goodbye. She dreamed this every other night, and every single time she finds herself inside an unknown territory, not knowing what she needs to do until the very last minute, when she fails miserably, only to awaken to the voices of her loved ones, calling her to come save them.

No, it wasn’t just that. Because this time- this time she had a good dream too.

They used to spar all the time together, it was a good energy outlet and an excuse to spend more time with each other. She had a lot to learn from two super soldiers, and to her surprise, she taught them some moves too.

Y/n remembered that day, Steve and she were having an early morning while Bucky was still soundly sleeping, so they decided not to wake him, leaving an orange sticky note on his metal arm that said, gone to kick steve’s ass, be back by 9:00. love you.

Steve drove them to the compound, crisp breeze hitting her freshly opened eyes as she clutched his firm chest tighter, leaning her body weight on his.

He asked if she was okay, loud noise of the engine and the wind free whistles in her ears, maybe he thought he drove too fast.

She nodded, smiling in reassurance when they bypassed traffic, Steve maniacally dodging cars and driving in between the small spaces vehicles leave. He was crazy. But he managed to bring them to the compound in under twenty minutes, which was a new record.

They entered the gym, Steve’s hand still on her lower back as they stopped walking, taking off their jackets, staying only in training clothes.

“I really like that jacket.” She said, feeling the worn leather of the large brown cloth under her fingertips.

“I know.” He smiled and bit his lips, taking her hand and guiding her to the large ring.

They took their positions, adjusting their stances, “Last night I remembered some old fight moves I didn’t use in a long time.” Steve scratched his beard then stretched his shoulders, “maybe we could start with them?”

She remembers nodding, not registering exactly what he said because she got distracted, thinking about his beard and his eyes and everything else.

It was a good day. Peaceful day. A day she would give anything to experience just once more.

Her eyes were tired, begging for an actual rest as she got up, still in her clothes from yesterday, blindly walking to the kitchen and hitting some buttons on the coffee machine- it was too old now. Needed to be replaced.

Nothing has really changed, since half of the world disappeared, since Steve and Bucky disappeared. She set next to the kitchen table, filling only one of four chairs, like every other day, holding the same bitter, black coffee in the same chipped mug.

Even killing Thanos didn’t mean anything, and she wasn’t even there. Too struck with grief to see the last light behind this monster’s eyes before they darkened forever.

Y/n felt like the world ceased to move, like maybe, in a way, they were caught in a lop, and time did stop.

-

“I’m sorry.” She went to visit Natasha again. Being sad was no excuse to treat her only friend spitefully. She leaned against the lintel, trying to find support, or hide behind it, she didn’t know.

Natasha’s eyes were swollen, eyes still threatening to tear up again any moment.

“It’s okay.” She took a bite from her sandwich, “Clint did it again.”

Y/n thought about yesterday, her own thoughts were so unfair to Nat, who did nothing but help her the past five years, how could she be so selfish, thinking she was the only one in suffering.

“I’m sorry, Nat. I really am.” Y/n approached her, taking the chair that was opposite of her, “did you try looking for him? Clint is a good guy. You know he is. He’s someone who lost everything at once. Something like that gotta mess up with your mind.”

“You’re still here.” Nat said quietly, already regretting it,

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, reclining against the back of the chair, “If there’s someone in this world that could save him - it’s yo-“

“Hey, Hello, This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany, I got really big-“

Both women were startled, slowly getting up from their chairs, looking at the small monitor.

“Is this an old message?” Y/n asked, her eyes burning, she inhaled sharply. Scott Lang is supposed to be missing, he dusted with all the others. And if that really is Scott it means…

-

Scott didn’t disappear because of Thanos’ snap like the others. So it didn’t mean shit. And hope crushed her chest once again, hating herself for letting it invade her thoughts repeatedly, not learning her lesson.

His incoherent ramble about a time machine sure didn’t help. Natasha insisted they would go visit Tony anyway, saying that if he recognized a real chance he would never hesitate to help-

But when she sees Tony with his daughter, her world nearly crumbles for the second time in two days. The odds he would cooperate were now down to zero.

Tony saw them approaching. She watched him letting the kid down, following her with her gaze as she ran all the way to the front door, swallowed by the wooden house.

“I’m happy for you Tony,” y/n heard herself saying, “I really am. But you can help so many people, you can help bring so many people back, and you won’t even…”

“No. I won’t even.” There was a finality in his voice, one that clearly states they are done.

“Steve? You remember Steve? He used to be your friend. Or have you already forgotten him. How easy.” She pierced the air with an ice cold tone , anger consuming her. “You live your happy life, and you got everything. Tony. Everything. What do I got? What do I have?” She heaved, breathless, and he looked like he was going to say something, when his daughter came jumping on his lap, securing her little arms around him in a firm hug, “mom told me to come save you.”

Y/n finally got a good look of the girl. She was sweet looking, a visible brain behind her eyes; And she didn’t know Tony Stark very well, but y/n could tell the kid shared a deep resembles to him. Who wouldn’t do anything for their child? Even if it means letting the other half of the world burn. -

She clearly didn’t know the man at all, because for some reason- Tony Stark came back.

Everything they did seemed to fail, and when Bruce couldn’t figure it out, almost making what’s left of the Avengers babysitters to baby Scott, Tony arrived to the rescue.

“He turned into a baby, didn’t he?” He snarked with a sly grin, revealing a weird looking metal bracelet and a proud attitude that said, I did it.

“Thank you.” Y/n took his hand, squeezing it hard, knowing that as of now, she owes this man her life. “Thank you so much.”

He offered a knowing smile, grief shifting his features, “I know what it’s like to lose someone.” - “See you in a minute.” She heard Nat, giddy with excitement, before all of them were pulled into a colorful vortex, a hurricane rearranging her guts, staying with her even when they landed in an unfamiliar ally in New York.

“Are we in the right place?” She asked Tony and Bruce, changing her white and red, Quantum traveling suit, into a more area fitting one with a single button.

Smashing sounds got closer by the second right after she asked, not long before they saw a much greener Hulk, destroying everything on his path.

“I’m pretty sure this answers my question. “ Y/n said to herself, amused, heart light inside her chest despite the heavy mission ahead of them.

Y/n wore a big SHIELD identification, saying she was incredibly high clearance, it’s supposed to get her what she needs quickly, no questions asked; but when she entered an elevator full of Hydra thugs, testosterone reeking the small space, she assumed there might be some questions.

“Gentlemen.” She said, too ceremonially, “I will need you to hand me the Scepters. Orders from high, I’m afraid.” She felt all of them tense around her,

“And who are you, if I may ask? I have never seen you here.” The bald man who looked less threatening than all of them asked,

Y/n held her ID high, pointing out her clearance level, “not ever seeing me here is a good sign, Mr…”

“Mr. Sitwell.”

“Very well, Mr. Sitwell. Now, if you will, the Scepter. I’m in a bit of a rush. Wouldn’t want to keep people on the higher floors waiting.” Y/n decided to do something bold, the outcome could either be a success, or one that she would have to punch her way out of. She leaned against Sitwell, bringing her mouth closer to his ear and whispered,  

“Hail Hydra.”

The man looked apprehensive at first, debating with himself for a long moment, until finally nodding to one of the other men, handing her the long suitcase reluctantly.

Y/n gladly accepted it , the elevator finally opening up as she turned her back to them, smirking in satisfaction, going towards the exit.

Her legs stopped in their tracks. She wasn’t supposed to see him. Not now, not like this.

Steve, wearing a very cheesy and outdated Captain America suit approached her, holding his earpiece, and before she could even registered what was going on, she heard him say he has eyes on Loki. Fucking Fantastic.

It wasn’t her Steve, she knew, but it was harder to accept than say, because as it seemed she is going to have to fight him, and she wasn’t ready.

In the months before the mission Natasha got her back into a very strict schedule of training, trying to beat her into shape again. It couldn’t repair years of damage and neglect, but it was better than anything. And as past Steve swung his shield to her direction, y/n held onto every bit of shape she head.

It wasn’t her Steve, her mind screamed as she dodged his punch, fighting the desire to take off his mask and kiss him.

He hasn’t met her yet, of course he won’t recognize her.  

“Hand back the Scepter, Loki.” He demanded, she was suddenly happy she couldn’t see his eyes.

Steve tried to use her shoulder to hoist himself up, but y/n hunched over, waiting for him to miss his jump, and placed two hands securely on his broad shoulders, lifting herself and using his support to flip over, forcing him down along with her, wrapping her body around his, trying to chock him long enough for him to lose consciousness.

“I can’t do that. “She panted, struggling to keep him in a tight enough grip, “and I am not Loki.”

Steve fought out of her hold, twisting his thighs around hers and kicking her kneecaps, rattling her entire body as they changed positions, now she was the one being strangled. She arced her back, hitting him in full force with it, but he didn’t budge. Not even when she jerked one ankle, jolting him right in the junk. She’ll apologize later.

Y/n couldn’t beat him in a hand to hand combat, poorly shaped and outmatched by him. Distraction was her only possible advantage, and she was running out of time, options, and air. What could baffle 2012 Steve Rogers? She thought frantically, just as the answer presented itself to her.

What would faze 2012 Steve Rogers? The same thing that would faze 2019 Steve Rogers, or any Steve Rogers for that matter.

“Bucky, is , alive.” She coughed out, and it was enough; the lock on her throat was released, giving her an opportunity to take the Scepter and run. She took it out of its case, pointing it at Steve general direction just as he gained composer again, hovering above her. She caught a glimpse of blue, cold and painful to watch without the warm undertones that appeared every time he looked at her.

“Sorry.” She squeaked as he dropped to the floor, head planted down. Only falling asleep, she hoped.

- The minute she saw Clint collapsing, an empty space to her left, she knew Natasha was not coming back.

They didn’t know exactly what happened, and it didn’t matter. Because everything else was clear. She gave her life to get that stone, to get everyone back. That only meant one thing; They could not fail.

- As time went by, y/n thought less and less about what would happen if they came back. There was no point to lead herself on, right? So she didn’t.

But now, as the possibility of them returning appeared more vivid, worry began to chew on her confidence.  Insecurity seemed the last thing she needed right now, so insignificant, superficial, in times like this, when the faith of the world was at stake. Yet, she was staring at the mirror, for the first time in five years, really looking. Examining carefully, with attention, how her body has changed. She didn’t like what she saw.

It’s not about you, she had to remind herself, it’s about them.

“Also", a very familiar voice, challenging her with the cheek in her tone; Nat. “Give those two dumbasses more credit, they will love you, no matter what.”

-

It was only them, and they were losing.

They managed the snap, and it almost cost Bruce’s life in the process. Nothing in the world seemed to scream about drastic changes so far, and then Thanos decided to pay a visit, depriving them of finding out if everything they have gone through was for nothing.

Slowly but surely, they were losing. Being wrecked by the purple alien that already destroyed once their lives as they knew and loved.

It wasn’t fair, Stark was the last one standing. She watched him from where she landed, after being brutally thrown. He could never face him by himself, he wouldn’t survive long enough. She remembered that day, it seemed like thousand years ago now; when she swore, she owed her life to that man.

No superpowers, no special suit, no weapon. Just her, and her fists. That’s all she had to offer. She owed it to too many people to not just surrender and die, leaving a world to burn behind her. She owed it to herself.

Y/n gritted her teeth and spit blood to the side, standing side by side with Iron Man, bringing two fists to the front of her body and fixing her stance.

She inhaled deeply and glanced at Stark, he nodded, letting her know he’s ready when she is.

“Y/n?” She heard her name, somehow loud, in her earpiece. Tony looked confused just as her, he heard it too, and it wasn’t him talking.

“Doll, it’s Steve. Do you copy?”

Her breath was knocked off her lungs, she searched around her for any sign of him, of Bucky, of anyone, when an orange portal was opened behind her. And then another one, and another one, and another ten.

“Holy shit.” Tony called from beside her, laughing, somehow, “holy fucking shit.”

Y/n was at a loss of words.

“Go.” He opened his helmet, motioning her to the sea of warriors behind them - he wasn’t standing alone anymore - “go!”

She shook her head, not moving an inch. “I’m staying right here.”

-

It was her dream again. Her eyes scanned the crowds, running amok between injured people, bodies. Vision too blurry and burning to see any face at all.

“Y/n!.” A deep voice called in her direction, and she nearly twisted her neck attempting to find its source.

Her eyes teared up instantly, knees threatening to buckle underneath her, a metal arm coming just in time to hold onto her, support her in place. Wiping tears was useless, she found out soon enough, giving up instantly to simply sobbing into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.” She kept crying out, he had a long cut on the side of his torso, he shushed her gently when she tried to bring it up.

There was a subtle movement behind her, and she tensed, head shooting up, “Steve?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He said softly, another pair of strong arm enfolding themselves around her, his eyes radiated warmth, bright in the middle of a dirt stained face. She took one last look before burying her body deeper between them, surrounding herself with a scent that was a mix of salt and earth and blood, so humanly them.

“You were gone and I-“ Y/n kept glancing every other second at Bucky- even though she was still in his arms, hysteria got the best of her, gradually taking over any rationale left- the fear they’ll disappear, like last time, becomes too real.

“I didn’t say goodbye and-“ She gasped for air, they caressed her, talking sweet nothings in her ears, just to calm her down.

“It’s been five years and I…I couldn’t live without you.” She said finally, physically struggling to speak, clutching onto them harder,

“We’re so sorry.” Bucky muttered, choking down on tears of his own, weaving fingers through her knotted hair, “So fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured her one more time, kissing her temple, then her knuckles, then her lips. “we’re here now.”

[hallelujuh]

hello yes i just finished lord of the flies (and then watched the 1963 movie immediately afterwards) & i rlly luv piggy so im gonna yell abt Just Piggy Things™ even if no one cares

piggy’s the first character we’re introduced to, after ralph ofc, so that means we’re supposed to get attached, and boy did i get attached..

ass-mar

the fact that he’s been called mean nicknames so long that his real name doesnt matter to him?? he doesnt care what hes called?? poor thing wtf??? hes like eleven hes too little for this

the Flashing Anime Glasses. especially the one w the fire when he starts laughing maniacally. same.

im talking about: “then he laughed so strangely that they were hushed, looking at the flash of his spectacles in astonishment.”

also: “’i got the conch,’ said piggy, in a hurt voice. ‘i got a right to speak.’” let him speak hes the only damn reasonable one. also stop hurting him hes been hurt enough goddamnit 

k but how much he loves ralph? and ralph is annoyed by him??? but then later he confides in him & cries over him & their friendship is my fav in the book so. they bond it just takes a while. but piggy was always good to ralph awe

“i was with him when he found the conch. i was with him before anyone else was.” he finally made a friend dont u take him from him ;-;

k speaking of the conch, in the first movie, his laugh when ralph’s blowing the horn for the first time??? aw??? a rare moment of joy in that sad ass movie?? 

‘63!film piggy is the sweetest & cutest i lob him. ‘90!film piggy was annoying as shit tho i refuse to talk about him.

in the ‘63!film when he puts his hands on his hips when jack says “shut up fatty” and then hides behind the tree when they all laugh at him.

god in the book it’s easy to forget theyre actual babies but with the movie u cant possibly forget and theyre so cute but defenseless it’s so sad

i kno these actors r like 70 or dead now but i wanna go back in time & give them a hug. especially piggy cuz hes a pouty chubby bub gOD IM SO SAD

one last note on the film before i get back to the book: the movie rlly encompassed how awkward i imagined piggy to be & i luv that. also his story time abt camberly was adorable + educational (for me, anyway)

how hurt he is when ralph tells the other boys his name, poor thing ugh :(

“’let him have the conch!’ shouted piggy. ‘let him have it!’” yes stand up for poor lil mulberry child

“piggy knelt by him, one hand on the great shell, listening and interpreting to the assembly.” hes so fuckin sweet??? hes like the mom of the island hes so nice to the littluns i luv him

and when he gets upset over the mulberry boy probably bein killed in the fire :’( hes the most sensible and the most empathetic of all the other boys. what a cinnamon roll. unproblematic fav. true neutral. 10/10. the best boy.

my second favorite line in the whole book: “then, with the martyred expression of a parent who has to keep up with the senseless ebullience of the children, he picked up the conch, turned toward the forest, and began to pick his way over the tumbled scar.” tired mama piggy lmao

he wants to make a sundial?? hes so smart aw

piggy thinking ralph’s patronizing smile was a friendly one :( :( he just wants a friendddd hes so naive & sweet im sadddd

i think it’s implied most of the other boys (particularly the choir boys & ralph) are from a nicer, more upper class part of england, &, despite his intelligence, piggy’s more lower class, judging by his cockney-esque accent (his use of ‘them’ instead of ‘those’, etc.) and also “piggy was an outsider, not only by accent, which did not matter…” idk why this is cute i dunno

“piggy arrived, out of breath and whimpering like a littlun.” me in pe. but also poor thing ;-;

“piggy sniveled and simon shushed him as though he had spoken too loudly in church.” i interpreted shushed as, like, consoled, more than, like, ‘quit crying, ya baby’, which was more what he was doing, but still…first of many cute piggy & simon interactions. i’d ship them but theyre like twelve so nah. but they cute as buddies

“this was too bitter for piggy, who forgot his timidity in the agony of his loss. he began to cry out, shrilly: ‘you and your blood, jack merridew! you and your hunting! we might have gone home-’” this hurts because if jack hadn’t gone hunting, they may have been rescued before simon or piggy died :( :( :( horrible vague foreshadowing

simon getting piggy’s glasses for him when jack throws em ;-;

simon giving his piece of meat (not a euphemism, goddamnit) to piggy.. god simons so sweet hes my second fav

“only, decided ralph as he faced the chief’s seat, i can’t think. not like piggy…he could go step by step inside that fat head of his, only piggy was no chief. but piggy, for all his ludicrous body, had brains.” why does ralph resent piggy sm. it’s like it psychically hurts him to compliment him, even just in his own head. jeez. just cuz someones fat doesnt mean they cant be smart?? the 50s were weird

“piggy came and stood outside the triangle. this indicated that he wished to listen, but would not speak; and piggy intended it as a gesture of disapproval.” aka ‘i’m mad at everyone so im gonna stand two feet away & glare at you all’ aw haha

when he tiptoes onto the triangle cuz hes done w his protesting ahaha aw

“piggy held out his hands for the conch but ralph shook his head.” idk i thought the mental image was cute. “gimme pls” “nuh uh”

what he says about the beast & life being scientific…me & piggy would be buds if he was real lmao

“ralph nodded to piggy. ‘go on. ask him.’ piggy knelt, holding the conch. ‘now then. what’s your name?’ the small boy twisted away into his tent. piggy turned helplessly to ralph..” honestly piggy & ralph are the mom & dad of the colony (jack being the asshole uncle) it’s so cute

“’that’s a clever beast,’ said piggy, jeering, ‘if it can hide on this island.’” sarcastic piggy is sarcastic

more sarcastic piggy earlier in the book: “you got your small fire all right” i lob him

indignant & shrill piggy… and his quote: “’what are we? humans? or animals? or savages?’” honestly lowkey want that tattooed

i fuckin hate jalph but admittedly jack’s jealous lil “’that’s right–favor piggy as you always do.’” is salty & gay lmao

the whole three blind mice convo…i luv

particular highlight in that scene: “’i’m scared of him,’ said piggy, ‘and that’s why i know him. if you’re scared of someone you hate him but you can’t stop thinking about him. you kid yourself he’s all right really, an’ then when you see him again; it’s like asthma an’ you can’t breathe. i tell you what. he hates you too, ralph—’” POOR BABYYY 

also “’i know about people. i know about me. and him. he can’t hurt you: but if you stand out of the way he’d hurt the next thing. and that’s me.” IN THE END ROGER’S THE ONE WHO HURTS HIM UGH :(

“’keep piggy out of danger.’” YOU ASSHOLES LET HIM DIE

piggy holding his breath until his asthma acts up & then the boys just leave him??? what dicks

“jack cleared his throat and spoke in a queer, tight voice. ‘we mustn’t let anything happen to piggy, must we?’” AND THEN YOU LET HIM D I E U SALTY BITCH QUIT IT

“piggy put on his one glass and looked at ralph. ‘now you done it. you been rude about his hunters.’ ‘oh shut up!’” why dont more ppl ship them?? compared to jalph theres nothing??? theyre like a married couple it’s precious. like i said - mom & dad of the island.

piggy getting braver & being more of a leader once jack leaves!!! im proud of him!!

“he [simon] sought for help and sympathy and chose piggy” k the two most humane & sympathetic kids on the island, and the two doomed ones, gravitate towards each other & look out for each other & it so sadd

piggy being “so full of pride in his contribution to the good of society” he didnt deserve his fate he was so good im so sad

samneric & piggy making a little mini feast for them?? thats so cute??? 

also “piggy broke into noisy laughter and took more fruit. ‘he might be.’ he gulped his mouthful. ‘he’s cracked’.” piggy u get teased for bein different why would u tease simon (behind his back too) for bein diffrent u hypocrite. noisy laughter tho aw

piggy & ralph laying by the fire & talking…ralph didnt deserve piggy honestly he wasnt even grateful until the very end for such a good friend in such a horrible situation??? ugh

“when he understood how far ralph had gone toward accepting him he flushed pinkly with pride” see? good friendship. piggy just wanted a friend & to be considered valuable. and ralph finally started appreciating him

“piggy took off his glasses, stepped primly into the water, and then put them on again.” prim: stiffly formal and respectable; feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper. idk why this is funny to me

when he gets annoyed and starts slapping the water & yelling. temper tatrum lmao. dont blame him

“piggy stirred the sand under water and did not look at ralph. ‘p’raps we ought to go too.’ ralph looked at him quickly and piggy blushed. ‘i mean–to make sure nothing happens.’ ralph squirted water again.” they’re so fuckINGN CUTE

“piggy touched ralph’s wrist. ‘come away. there’s going to be trouble. and we’ve had our meat.’“ SO MUCH OF THIS STORY WOULDVE BEEN AVOIDED IF THE OTHER BOYS ACTUALLY LISTENED TO PIGGY

“ralph sat down in the grass facing the chief’s seat and the conch. piggy knelt at his left, and for a long minute there was silence.” i luv their dynamic sm. ruler & adviser. no questions asked. ultimate loyalty. so good.

piggy trying to be all rational about simon while ralph freaks out…what a scene. also i luv how awkward their convo w samneric immediately after is

piggy wants to be rescued most and hes the one whos killed!!!! bullshit!!!! justice for piggy!!!

when ralph says piggy should write a letter to his auntie & he takes it serious & ralph laughs & piggy doesnt get it. awe.

the scene where they take his glasses ;-; u made my boi piggy hav an ass-mar attack u monsters,

PIGGY GETTIN ALL BADASS & DETERMINED & TALKING ABOUT WHAT HES GONNA TELL JACK 

“he held out the conch to piggy who flushed, this time with pride” and then “piggy sought in his mind for words to convey his passionate willingness to carry the conch against all odds.” the conch is the only constant on the island, the only dependable thing he has besides ralph, so hes so invested in it, hes pretty much deemed himself the caretaker of the conch, and it dies with him…

the scene where piggy reassures ralph & it says “the twins were examining ralph curiously, as though they were seeing him for the first time” is probably my fav scene in the entire book…it just really shows, in a couple of lines, the characters that ralph & piggy are, and what their relationship is like, and why they’re a partnership throughout the whole book. fantastic.

“’am i safe?’ quavered piggy. ‘i feel awful–’” fuckin foreshadowing, i hate it. imagine being practically blind on a cliff and then, minutes later, falling to your death. god it’s terrible.

piggy crying for ralph not to leave him actually hurts like psychically in my chest. him and simon were babies??? i know it’s fiction but kids are the sweetest things, not even fictional kids deserve to be killed so mercilessly??? im so fuckin sad

his last words…powerful and iconic.

i dont wanna talk about his death. im very sad

k ik it’s terrible but when he died his skull cracked open & his brain more or less fell out (”and stuff came out”, “with his empty head”), and thats p macabre but it’s also symbolic and genius bc when roger killed him he also took away the only thing he had going for him, the only thing that gave him superiority over the others - his intelligence. his brain. 

of course, have to end on: “ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called piggy.” cue me shutting the book, hugging it to my chest, and sobbing

[artificialqueens]

astronaut (sashea) -- by svetlana

a/n: really, a study on the topics of dreams and how they relate to love & sasha giving an impromptu lesson on narrative structure. 

“I’m not good at living in the moment,” Sasha says. “I don’t think anyone is, and maybe love is when you find something that tethers you to real time.”    

She is drunk, teetering just past the brink of rational thinking, and Sasha can’t tell if it’s possibilities or alcohol burning through her veins. As far as she can remember, it’s the first time that it doesn’t matter.

Shea is drunk which is familiar, and she’s Dali-blue in the moonlight, which isn’t. The thoughts stop and all Sasha can hear are the crickets, the wind rustling through Central Park at night, the water of the lake lapping against artificial shores. Then, Shea’s voice, soft as summer. “I like that.” She shifts onto her side so that she faces Sasha. They are apostrophes, beginning and end, knees tucked and necks bent toward each other. There is barely any grass between them, but Sasha counts five dead leaves. “Is that why people grow old? ‘Cause loving people makes you wanna age with them?”

Something trails itself across Sasha’s neck. Perhaps an ant. Perhaps a blade of grass. “Loving anything.” Her voice is weaker than she intended. “Loving people, loving art, loving, we’re able to define our love as humans because of mortality. There’s an end, so there’s exposition, rising action, and…”

Everything is raw and new. She is six-years-old Lady Macbeth with Crayola blood on her hands. She’s Norman Bates-Nosferatu. She is learning how to create, how to fabricate new realities to escape to and she wields metaphors as shields because it’s hard to stay in the now when the now is so steeped in – and there is always a bigger picture, a fabulous distraction because she’s a single-minded researcher who won’t stop till she knows all about Stonewall or World War II propaganda songs or Shea Coulée, and there, at last, the thoughts stop. She touches Shea’s lashes. They flutter beneath her fingertips.

“Is love murder?” Shea asks.

It’s the part of Shea that no one else gets to see – the part hidden behind the crude jokes and sass and French. She wonders what makes her special before deciding that it doesn’t matter outside of the fact that she is. They are still touching. Sasha exhales, touches Shea’s forehead. “I like your mind.”

Shea snorts. “Girl, don’t forget my body’s here too.

Obligingly, Sasha pinches Shea’s bicep. “Oh, so firm and accessible, like the revolution.”

“Shut up, oh my god, you’re so gone you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.“ 

But they’re both laughing, and the moon is swollen above them. Details, the bigger picture, maybe Sasha lied. She can’t help it after all. They are out of drag and Shea has started rubbing what feels like a new alphabet into the back of Sasha’s head and it’s the first time that the world has been swept to the side, where there’s nothing else but just wanting to be soaked in dew and insects with Shea at ungodly hours in Central Park. 

In Classics 120, they’d called it hamaratia, a fatal flaw. Johnny had called it feeling too much and said that he’s like that too, two big-eyed introverts with a fondness for big words and exploration and they cover their apartment with paintings and designs, go to sleep early so that they can read to each other in the mornings. It’s easy.

But she doesn’t understand Shea, who has a habit of asking one too many questions like, “So would you rather – like for real – be able to speak to animals, or teleport?” and following up with things like, “What makes you put on wigs sometimes? What does your mind palace look like?” The best guess she has is that maybe Shea is trying to map out her mind, and isn’t it funny that she doesn’t mind at all? 

Now, Shea asks, “Why’d you look away?”

“I didn’t.”

“No, I mean I usually see you look at someone for the same amount of time and then you just look down like it’s an afterthought.”

“I read articles on how there’s an average amount of time for when you look at acquaintances, friends, and partners. Sometimes mid-conversation, I just remember the counts.”

Shea has stopped moving. There’s a strange smile on her lips. “You can look at me however long you want, Sasha, and I’ll probably just stare back.“ 

Sasha laughs. “Are you trying to start a staring contest?”

“I mean, we could just always be playing spoons.”

“Oh, spoons. I think we’ve just gone back in time.”

I should draw this, Sasha thinks. It’s the perfect study of light. But she knows she won’t. There’s no good medium to express how it is to feel interesting, the sensation of secrets building up behind her smile. In any case, Shea must have a good idea already, if she’s this used to their conversations. 

“Well, if you’re not good at living in the moment, then the past works.”  

The sky in the city is paper thin, and long ago, she’d listen to songs about paper moons with her family at dinner and wonder if one day she’ll poke pinprick stars into existence through all the light pollution. When she hadn’t been a Lady Macbeth, Sasha had wondered what it would be like to be an astronaut. Lately, she’s been dreaming about taking rockets to Pluto, and she thinks maybe she’s scared that one day it will all become old and there will be nothing left to discover or share. And maybe there’s something to be said for how gravity affects dreams, how the inexpressible is traded for words and colors and things within human comprehension. 

She doesn’t say, and you’ve reminded me of this. Instead, she asks, “What about you? You bribed me into friendship with a stalk of broccoli and then started talking about the time-space continuum.”

“I figured you’re the smart one so you’d probably know,” Shea says. Like it’s a given. “It’s not like I was planning it anyway. I’m just curious around you.” 

Oh. Ironic, that she’d forgotten to look inward, too busy being inspired by history and politics and her family, that of course there would always be new places to find and people to meet and she should have more trust in herself, because Shea would never look away, would just stare back, she should know by now that she’ll never run out of ideas. And that if she does, she knows who to call. “You’ve taught me a lot, just by asking.”

Shea cackles. “Oh, she says that to me now after all those times I tried to coach her into doing the splits. She comes into my home –“

“Girl, come on.”

It’s not murder per se, but it’s its own form of recreation. And Sasha happens to be very fond of rebirth. 

[allyinthekeyofx]

Staking his claim 1/1

Well it’s just fluff really.  I make no excuses and was born from that dress Gillian Anderson wore to the Halloween benefit ball. It’s NOT RPF though. Strictly Mulder & Scully set during revival between Babylon and My Struggle II

 I honestly meant to check the dress in the costume shop when I picked it up; in fact, I meant to pick the damn thing up three days ago.  But the unscheduled side trip to Texas put paid to any hope I may have had regarding trying it on before the actual of night of the FBI’s annual Halloween benefit ball was upon me.

 An FBI ball for God’s sake; this would never have happened in the old days but it seems that even the Federal Government is no longer immune to the expectation that they should do their bit in the name of philanthropy.  The fact that the birth of social media means that not only does the Bureau have a twitter account, but you can also log onto Facebook and scroll through innumerable publicity shots of smiling Agents engaged in their pursuit of protecting the country; of ensuring they are spending those tax dollars wisely and even more crucially, that they actually care what the general populace thinks of them.  I had been labouring under the delusion that the photos were posed by models but in fact, they are real live Agents with real live badges and real live guns. Every department is represented – from A-Z there is at least a paragraph or two of blurb that a Joe public hungry for information can log on to with just the click of a button or a touch of a screen.  

 So far, we have managed to fly under the radar with regards to this particular public relations nightmare and one of the few letters not currently indexed on the handy drop-down menu is X but we both know it’s only a matter of time before Mulder and I are called upon to pose enigmatically with a paper mache model of a horny-toed lizard man or some other such nonsense.  Mulder thinks it’s hilarious; but then again, Mulder would.

 I was less than pleased to find a copy of the inter-departmental memo on my desk requesting our attendance of the aforementioned Ball – every department was expected to send two agents in full Halloween fancy dress to rub shoulders with the great and the good of DC and since our department is literally made up of Mulder and I, there was absolutely no getting out of it.  Not that I didn’t try of course, especially when the first thing that jumped out at me was that it was set to take place on Mulder’s Birthday. 

 Now, we’ve never been that big on Birthdays but this year is kind of special to us both, especially since we have finally began to find a way back again after some very dark years where we ran from each other as much as we pushed each other away.  Echoes of our past finally engulfing us in ways I don’t think we had ever really envisaged and certainly didn’t fully understand. Mulder began to fall spectacularly and I found myself just too tired of everything to keep trying to catch him when he didn’t want to be caught.  It was just easier to walk away; telling ourselves that our time was over, that we had simply run our course and that some hurt was just too big to let go.

 All rubbish of course and I don’t honestly think either of us expected the separation to become as permanent as it turned out to be as days turned to months and months to years, where our communication dwindled to sporadic phone conversations where neither one of really knew what to say to open doors that, in our different ways we had slammed shut on each other.  Like polite strangers we talked to each other without actually saying anything and eventually it just became too painful for both of us.  So much so that we literally pulled away from each other on every level possible and last year was the first year we didn’t acknowledge our respective Birthdays.  I spent mine huddled miserably on the sterile couch in my sterile apartment waiting for the phone to ring and at the same time, praying it wouldn’t and spent Mulders in pretty much the same position; clutching onto my phone and wishing I had the guts to just bring up his number and speak to him; to check he was okay. 

 I cried myself into oblivion that night, cursing myself for my cowardice and him for ever allowing me to flee from him in the first place.

 But this year, this year is different.

 Because my initial fears of working with him again, of falling back into the darkness that engulfed us for so many years, have not materialised because Mulder is different – I don’t mean in the way he approaches things or that his passion for the work has waned – because aside from a little wobble where he began to question his own life choices as he realised he was back to chasing monsters, he is still as focused on his own version of the truth as he ever was. 

But we talk now.  

More than I think we ever have before and I now realise that possibly, walking away from each other was the only way we could ever hope to heal; that by removing myself as Mulders personal crutch he was left with two choices – to sink or swim and because he is the man he is, he chose to swim; finally seeking outside help to exorcise his demons and to heal himself in ways I hadn’t been able to during our years together and, to a certain extent I have done the same, making it easier than I ever thought it could be to slot seamlessly back into each other’s lives; easier than I could have imagined to fall instantly back in love with him.

 Which is why this year, I had wanted to make his Birthday special - A celebration that marked a rebirth for us both, of a strengthened resolve to hold on to each other no matter what.

 I had told him just a few short days ago as we walked hand in hand through the long grass that surrounded that little house that had been witness to so much heartache, that humanity could only survive and hatred be defeated if we could all find a common language again.  To listen to each other and to learn to love again; and just as I knew he would, he understood that I was offering him that chance for us too, asking him with my heart what I couldn’t quite find the courage to say out loud.  And as the golden sunshine of early autumn warmed our skin he wrapped his arms around me and just held me against him, evoking within me such a sense of belonging that it literally took my breath away.

 But we have taken things slowly, careful now to ensure we are doing all this for the right reasons, sharing kisses and caresses but not taking things further even though I think we both want to, needing to make this right because in many ways, as much as we both loved each other, everything back then was just so wrong; a relationship born of fear and hurt and desperation.  And now we have been given a second chance to get it right; to build something sustainable; to love each other for no other reason than because we can’t not.

 Which is why I wanted to make his Birthday special; just the two of us where I would cook us a nice dinner and we would maybe watch a movie and just be together.  Not be plunged unwillingly in to a ballroom full of strangers, making small talk and being paraded around; expected to recount stories of our past work on the X Files to a crowd of slack-jawed politicians and worthy notables who could never hope to understand the sacrifices we had made during our years stuck in the basement and frankly, probably wouldn’t care even if they did.  I could just about deal with it if I were able to approach it in a professional manner – enough gala dinners at the hospital has taught me well how to schmoose those with connections – but the directive from Skinner’s office clearly stated Halloween attire.

 Fancy dress.

 Spooky fancy dress no less.

 And there lies the root of my problem.

 Trying to make the best of it, Mulder and I had gone to choose our costumes.  He had no problems picking something off the rack because despite a slight thickening of his middle over the years, for his age, Mulder is in incredible shape and pretty much everything he tried on looked like it had been made for him.  But I can hardly be described being of either average height or build and even the petite range hung off me so when Mulder gleefully suggested I might want to try the kids section it’s probably a good thing I didn’t have my gun on me because I could have quite happily shot him on the spot.  

 Instead, with as much dignity as I could muster, I asked if one of the costumes could be special ordered for me since I had noticed it was a service they offered.  It was the only one I could even envisage myself wearing – not too sparkly, not too spooky and not too fussy.  I suppose it could best be described as slightly medieval with a laced bodice, white ruffled top, gossamer cap sleeves and a skirt that fell to around mid calf.  Simple, understated and about as classy as I was going to get given the circumstances; Mulder said it reminded him of a zombie serving wench which earned him a punch on the arm because frankly, at that point in time he seemed to be enjoying this whole ridiculous situation just a bit too much and all the time I was being measured he cracked lame jokes about mead with possibly the worst attempt at a British accent I have ever heard.  But finally it was done.  The dress was ordered; the deed was done and all I had to do was to try it on for size when it arrived.

 Only I never did; because a part of me was hoping the whole thing would just go away and the other part was stuck halfway across the country with Mulder as we attempted, both in our different ways, of finding a way to communicate with the near-dead and which meant, when the dress finally arrived I was unable to check it was okay. 

 But it was just a dress right?  I mean what could possibly go wrong?

I finally got around to collecting it on my way home from work today and my confident assertion came right back to haunt me.  No pun intended of course.

Because now, as I look at my reflection in the mirror, I could quite literally cry.

The dress, from the waist up is perfect; the cut of the bodice accentuates my figure and frankly, makes my bust line look a lot more impressive than it actually is, the floating grey gossamer that trails down my arms is perfect against my pale skin and the way the bodice ends in a slight vee shape lengthens my torso slightly and creates the illusion that I am slightly taller than I actually am.

 But the rest of it?  The rest of it is almost nonexistent; a skirt that is so short it is barely there at all flares out slightly at my hips and falls to a level that sits around mid thigh and teamed with the fishnet stockings I admit to buying purely for Mulders benefit, to my eyes at least, make me look like a Halloween-esque hooker.  Maybe if I were still in my twenties I would get away with it.  But I am the wrong side of fifty and there is no way on this earth I am going out dressed like this.  Which means Mulder will just have to go alone and probably be seduced by some sweet young thing from the typing pool who is dressed in a velveteen cat onesie with a tail.  Mulder has a thing about onesies.

 This thought actually slams me with the realisation that despite myself, there is a part of me that had actually been looking forward to tonight.  To go with him to this event as a couple – the first event as a federal agent where we wouldn’t have to hide our relationship because much has changed during our time away and while not openly encouraged, consorting between agents is not frowned upon as it was a decade ago and certainly no longer grounds for disciplinary action.  

 But I can’t go dressed like this; I just can’t and it’s far too late to rustle up another costume unless I’m prepared to drape a sheet over my head a la Casper the friendly ghost and that I’m afraid is a step way too far.

 A knock at the door announces Mulders arrival and I hastily throw my robe on over the medieval hooker waitress costume and belt it tightly around my waist.  No point giving Mulder a glimpse of forbidden fruit because I’m pretty sure that he won’t share my opinion as to the unsuitable nature of the dress for a woman of my age and possibly, he might actually not make it to the ball either once he sees it teamed with the fishnets and as much as that scenario appeals to me I doubt Skinner would be very impressed if neither one of us managed to put in an appearance.  The coward that resides in me briefly considers hiding in a closet but Mulder has a key and if I don’t open the door pretty soon he will just let himself in so I make my legs move in the direction of the hallway, taking a deep breath and arranging my face in to a neutral expression before I pull open the door to let him in.

 Predictably, he looks gorgeous.  When he picked out the costume to go try it on I knew it was an excellent choice for him. A tailored tux with a high collar and tiny black jewelled buttons, black cape with a purple satin lining and silver chain to hold it in place across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slicked back and apart from the vampire fangs that are visible, he hasn’t put any stage make-up on at all.  He doesn’t need it.  He looks dark and dangerous and so fucking handsome I could cry with disappointment.

 But I don’t of course; knowing that if I do he will point blank refuse to go without me and that’s not what I want.  So I muster the brightest smile I can as I reach up to graze his cheek with my lips.

 “Happy Birthday.”

 He smiles back at me, giving me the full benefit of his fangs as he accepts the wrapped gift I grab from the small table that stands beside the door before bringing his hand from behind his back and holding out a beautifully wrapped box in front of him.

 “I gotch oo shomehing hoo”

 I can’t help but grin as I accept the gift.  He sounds ridiculous.

  “Mulder lose the fangs okay?”

 The box he has given me is medium sized and looks suspiciously like a shoe box; Mulder has never bought me shoes before and I can’t imagine why he would start now but as I untie the black satin ribbon that holds the lid in place and fold back the tissue paper within, I am literally dazzled by what I see.

 Think Dorothy’s ruby slippers but black.  And with 3 inch spike heels.  Possibly the most beautiful shoes I have ever seen; totally impractical for normal daily wear but sheer perfection when teamed up with a Halloween dress and I find myself transfixed with the way the light catches the crystals as I hold one in my hand.  The sole is a deep red and I know without having to confirm it with him that they were horrifically expensive and I feel my throat begin to close; tears suddenly gathering to blur my vision as I realise he has bought them specifically for me to wear tonight.

 He notices of course even though I drop my head in an attempt to hide from him and I am unsurprised to feel him reach out for me, placing a single finger beneath my chin and gently tilting my head so I have to look at him.

 “What’s wrong?  Don’t you like them?”

 I shake my head miserably, barely able to force the words out.

 “I love them…it’s just that…..I can’t…I can’t go.”

 “What?  Why not?”

 He clearly doesn’t understand my strange mood and since actions speak louder than the words that are sticking in my throat I simply stand up and loosen the tie on my robe, allowing it to fall open to reveal the monstrosity masquerading as a dress that lies beneath.

 “They got my order wrong” I finally manage 

“I can’t go dressed like this Mulder I’ll be a laughing stock.”

 His mouth has quite literally dropped open at the sight of me and I prepare to pick the robe up to put it back on but he is suddenly on his feet gently catching my arm to still my movement.

 “Don’t.” 

 The single word leaves his lips on the back of a sigh as he just stands there, his eyes dark and intense.  Mulder has beautiful eyes and while there are more crow’s feet there than there used to be, those eyes still have the ability to drown me in the depth of their expression and tonight is no exception.  

 He reverently runs his hands down my arms then pulls me down to sit on the sofa, reaching for the shoe box and removing the other shoe before kneeling before me and, like Prince charming in a Dracula cape, he slides each one of those glittering works of art on to my feet, lightly caressing my insteps as he does so.  They are a perfect fit just as I knew they would be. And I watch, a small knot of butterflies taking flight in my stomach as he literally draws his gaze up my body, devouring me with his eyes alone.

 “You look……My God Scully, you look incredible.”

 I laugh nervously.

 “Mulder I look fifty one.”

 And his palm is instantly cupping my jaw, thumb caressing the soft skin on my cheek; an action of comfort, of protection, of a deep abiding connection to this man that has lasted half my lifetime and it evokes such powerful emotion within me that I can barely breathe; can barely move and certainly am rendered totally unable to tear my eyes away from his.

 “No. You are beautiful……so beautiful Scully”

 He kisses me lightly on the lips, lingering slightly as a promise maybe of things to come, before he stands, pulling me with him and stepping back from me.  His expression so full of love, so full of respect that I suddenly don’t care what I’m wearing because I could be stood here in a potato sack and he would still tell me I was beautiful and really, it’s only his opinion that matters to me now.

 So I take his hand, squeezing his fingers as they automatically lace with mine.

 XXXXXXXXX

 I truly hadn’t expected to enjoy myself tonight – especially given what I was wearing – but in actual fact the night had flown by and I was surprised to say the least when I glanced at the clock that hung on the far wall of the graceful ballroom to discover that it was close to eleven o’clock, that we had been here for over three hours and that a good proportion of those hours had been spent unashamedly melting in Mulder’s arms on the very edge of the dance floor as he made more than a reasonable attempt to kiss every bit of lipstick from my face in a very Dracula-like fashion.  My fears regarding the dress had proved groundless, not least because of the amount of flesh on show from some of our younger colleagues; in fact, my medieval hooker dress seemed positively chaste in comparison to some of the costumes in attendance and while I had felt initially awkward, the sheer amount of bulging latex that paraded by soon allayed any residual fears I may have been holding on to in that regard.  

And so, I decided just to try to enjoy myself, a decision that came surprisingly easy for us both as it turned out.  The first hour or so had been spent working the room but as the drink flowed and the music cranked up a notch we were able to gracefully bow out of whatever perceived responsibilities we thought were expected of us and instead proceeded to get happily tipsy courtesy of good old Uncle Sam.  The whole atmosphere actually reminded me of our brief sojourn in to Hollywood stardom when we spent an evening being dazzled, both with each other and with all the wanton delights offered to us by that glittering town. The production of a Bureau credit card and carte blanche to use it as we saw fit pretty much sealed the deal although I often wondered afterwards just how Skinner managed to explain away the almost one thousand dollar tab that we managed to run up in just a few short hours. He had never brought it up though. I guess being an associate producer as well as an Assistant Director brought its own rewards.  The movie bombed of course but it’s a sweetly retained memory of our time spent together before everything went to hell; a time when just for a while we thought that maybe we had won the battle if not the war.

And now, as I feel Mulders breath tickling my neck as he sways against me and occasionally half sings, half whispers snatches of whichever song is currently being blasted out by the enthusiastic DJ in command of the raised platform that is crowded with all manner of spooky decoration I can’t help but smile because although it’s kind of cheesy and not really like him at all, I don’t think Mulder has ever been quite so adoring of me as he is tonight.  I could tell myself it’s all down to the alcohol we have both consumed but I don’t really believe that.  

Because tonight I feel more connected to him that I have for a very long time; as though the years have simply fallen away from us and we are right back where we need to be.  The way he touches me, the way my name falls from his lips when he introduces me and the way he has barely even acknowledged anyone else all evening leaves me feeling protected and adored in a way I never thought I could be again.  Because tonight I realise that we have come full circle; completing our journey and gaining a strength in each other we thought we had lost forever and the realisation prompts me to tighten my arms around him, pulling him even closer so I can bury my face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, revelling in the feeling of him pressed against me.  

My heels give me added height that allows me to feel the steady thud of his heart through the layers of our clothing, and despite the music that still booms from the speakers, the sound of his heartbeat – his life force – is suddenly all I can hear. 

 And it’s deafening.

I tilt my face up toward him, finding his eyes on mine; radiating sudden concern as I release my hold on him and step slightly away from him, the sudden loss of his body heat causing a slight tremor to work its way along my back.  

“You okay Scully?”

I touch his face lightly, trailing my fingertips along his jaw that, despite his advancing years, is still as sculptured as it ever was, before allowing them to skim over his bottom lip; that beautiful lip that I have kissed a thousand times and which still takes me by surprise every time he brings it to my own.  

“I’m fine Mulder. But……I think I’m ready to go home now.”

He is serious then for a moment, his eyes glittering dark and intense in the semi-darkness of the still crowded ballroom but I realise that the only thing he sees is me, a question lingering in his expression that, by the slight furrow than has creased his brow, I know he is afraid to voice, afraid he has read me wrong, not wanting to presume too much of me even though once upon a time it seemed, where I was concerned, he did nothing but presume.

“Home Mulder.  Our home.”

I can easily breathe the words in to his ear – those glorious shoes have added inches to my height after all – and just like a switch has been flicked his eyes lighten with sudden understanding, the smile he bestows upon me slicing ten years off him in one fell swoop, transforming his features and making my breath catch in my throat at the sheer beauty of him, this man who has literally crossed continents for me and who, even when we were apart, remained the glue that held me together.  I never doubted him; even when he spent all those years doubting himself.  

He catches my hand in his, lacing our fingers together as he rubs his thumb lightly across my knuckles, eyes suddenly twinkling with that Mulder mischief I know so well.

“On one condition Scully….will you keep the shoes on?”

I laugh then as he begins to lead me through the throngs of couples still dancing, because oh yeah, I think that can be arranged.

End

[moonsandstar-s]

one safe haven.

When Ozpin speaks in his mind, it is often to tell him of his great destiny, of what he must do, of what lies in wait, and the terrible things that are coming. Other times, it is of his memories, vibrant and terrible things that blur through Oscar’s mind like pages caught in a high wind.

Tonight, it is neither.  xx read on ao3 xx 

Ozpin had been silent for a while.

Ever since Oscar had boarded the train and left his farm, auntie, and Hazel behind, his head had been filled with silence. It was a welcome change— Ozpin’s constant nattering in his head was, admittedly, getting old— but it was unnerving. He’d become almost used to his incessant prattling, and without it, it felt like something was… off.

I believed you did not wish to speak with me, Oscar. I can sense your disillusionment... your indecision at leaving your home and coming out here. It was a brave action on your part... though I know this is not what you wished to do with your life.

Right, Oscar thought back with gritted teeth. So now you show up, huh? I guess you’re not here to make pleasant conversation...

No, Ozpin said, almost regretfully. I wish it were so, but our paths twine in different ways.

Whatever you say, Oscar said.

Oscar, I'm not here to idly chat. Ozpin sounded faintly sharp; Oscar could imagine him in his head, eyes piercing, back straight. A matter has come to light, one of most urgent importance. Do you remember the Huntsman I spoke of to you?

Yeah, yeah. Sure. 

Oscar, stop walking. He’s within the building in front of you. You have to speak to him, and you have to tell him, Ozpin said as Oscar stopped on the sidewalk, looking up at the sky, where the white Mistralian moon hung in a shattered pool.

“Tell him what?” Oscar scowled. “You haven’t even told me his name. Now you want me to go in here?” He looked up, uneasy. He was outside of a grimy-looking bar, and it was all but abandoned, with a solitary figure hunched over the bar within.

His name is Qrow. He almost died while you— while we— were traveling to Mistral, but… I digress. You must go inside, Oscar. We must. There is so much to say.

“If it’s my body and you’re just hitching a ride in my thoughts, it’s ‘me’, not you.” Oscar hovered at the door, indecisive. It felt wrong to go in— not just because he was a minor, but there was a persistent part of him that was uncomfortable with every little bit of what he’d been doing lately. Running away from home, consorting with powers greater than he was, and now striding carelessly into some gross back-alley bar. Call it conscience, but either way, it was annoying.

Oscar, please, Ozpin said in his thoughts. I am aware that I have asked much of you, but of all things urgent and all that matter, this is important. I promise you. There was a note in it, faint and unrecognizable, that Oscar had never felt from the old headmaster before. It felt a bit like urgency, like when his auntie was yelling at him to hurry up with the menial farm chores, but a different sort— something more desperate and hurt in it.

I don’t understand why you expect me to make your speeches for you, Oscar thought back, faintly bothered. He knew he was being petty, but it was hard not to be. Especially after a disembodied voice in his head, from some crazy, dead headmaster he’d only ever heard about in the newspapers, forced him out of his comfort zone and into a lonely, dangerous wilderness, filled with people much greater than he is. Huntsmen and Huntresses and monsters seem like towering myths compared to an inconsequential farmhand. It seems like everything’s always ‘wait for it’, or ’it’s complicated’, right? He couldn’t help but be sour. Because I’m the one who has to have a gods-damned ghost in my head. Whatever I’m supposed to be, it’s not this! Why do you want to keep playing this game, running me along a string like your puppet?

Believe me, it’s no game this time. I know you’re hurt. I know I have pushed you… perhaps far more than necessary, at times. For that, I apologize, but there is— you do not understand what is at stake. You have to tell him everything, Oscar. The memories I shared with you. The battle below the school, what transpired in the vault, the Maiden, and…

The thought broke off, and faltered, and Oscar winced as a flash of pain shot through his head. Hard as it was to feel sympathetic for Ozpin sometimes, he could pity him now. It was hard to consider that he was technically dead.

Fine, fine, I’ll go in. Don’t start crying on me. I don’t want to have an old man crying in my head.

Rolling his eyes, he swung open the door.

Thank you, Ozpin said, his voice touched with genuine relief. That made Oscar feel a little less wary about the whole situation. Go in and talk to him. He will not harm you.

He stepped into the bar hesitantly, dusty floorboards creaking under his feet, the door swinging shut behind him. “Hello?” Oscar said, his voice sounding high-pitched and young in the silence. The Huntsman instantly snapped around in his seat, and Oscar’s feeling of surprise and fear battled with Ozpin’s… whatever he was feeling. Oscar didn’t really want to discern what it was, but it made his heart sound too loud in his ears.

What exactly am I supposed to be saying? Oscar thought as he walked forward. This guy looks scary. He could probably snap my neck in less than half the time it takes to say my own name. He’s all scarred up and he looks… angry. And tired. Wait, didn’t you say he almost died a little while ago? Why is he in a bar, instead of resting in a hospital or something?

Ozpin sounded exasperated. In that last sentence, you have captured all my frustrations with this man, and you’ve effectively encapsulated his thought process. If there’s one thing that keeps him alive, it’s his love for a drink. But he will not harm you, Oscar. I can promise you that much.

He loves drinking, but what else, huh? You don’t seem like the type of person to hang around with alcoholics… or well, you don’t seem like you used to be.

Oscar could sense Ozpin’s surprise. As good of a question as any, I suppose. There’s always greater depth to a person than what you might see at first glance, Oscar. To answer your query, I believe it’s his love for his found family, and his profession. There are many things that make a person tick, and I think that you may find that if you look hard enough, every single person in this world has something they care about more than anything. Some people regress to terrible actions in a vain effort to protect themselves from losing what is dear to them, unwittingly costing themselves their humanity in the process. Even those with darkness in their hearts all have something to lose, Oscar.

Whatever you say.

Oscar flinched nervously as he realized he had been staring wordlessly at the Huntsman— Qrow— for the past minute. The dark-haired warrior was looking at him like had more than a few screws loose.

“If you’re going to just stand here and stare at me, we might have a problem,” he rumbled. “I’m not here for you to gander at.”

“Sorry,” Oscar apologized hastily. “I’m not here for that, sir. I’m actually here on behalf of someone else.”

“Spit it out,” Qrow said, eyes narrowed.

Tell him who you are, Ozpin murmured. Tell him about the night Beacon fell, and—

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’d like my cane back,” Oscar said instead, cutting Ozpin off. He could almost feel the headmaster sighing in his mind, and he smiled. He knew he was being petty again, but it was so easy to mess with someone so formal, and if he was going to be plunged headfirst into some crazy new life, the least thing he could do was poke a little fun at it. “I don’t think he’s real happy about the fact that you, you know, stole it out of Beacon Tower. And I don’t think you really know how it works, either. It’s not just to help me hobble around like some invalid.”

The Huntsman froze, as if Oscar had struck him, before saying slowly, the syllable pronounced with shock, “Oz?”

“I also go by Oscar.” Oscar’s confidence wavered as the Huntsman continued to openly gape at him. He could imagine who Qrow saw standing there in his place— he knew what Ozpin looked like; after the headmaster had started yammering in his head, he’d dug up old newspapers to see who, exactly, he was— and he knew that in his place, the Huntsman was seeing the shadow of flyaway silver hair instead of his own rumpled black hair, a taller, more noble stature, coppery-gray eyes instead of mottled, ugly ones, the color of withering grass and leaves.

“Well,” the Huntsman exhaled on a long sigh. “There’s a great deal of things I didn’t expect to see tonight, and I can say with certainty you’re one of them. Oz told me about his little mind-jumping power before. I didn’t expect him to crop up in some kid from Mistral who’s still wet behind the ears.”

Oscar ignored the insult. “To be honest, Ozpin doesn’t really seem like the type to be expected,” he informed the other man. “I wasn’t expecting a voice to start talking in my head, either.”

The Huntsman swallowed, an old scar on his throat bobbing with the movement. “So when did old Oz pop up in your mind, kid? You don’t seem like the type to have a headmaster talking in your thoughts.”

“Honestly? A couple weeks ago. It scared me, at first. I thought I was going crazy… but he doesn’t seem crazy. And he doesn’t seem evil, either.”

“He’s not evil, and he’s not crazy, for sure,” Qrow said with a frown, “but he’s not the kind old teacher I expect you think he is.”

Deep within the recesses of Oscar’s mind, Ozpin stiffened, and Oscar let out a sigh. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not as experienced as all you Huntsmen, but I’m definitely not an idiot. He’s not— possessing me, or anything. I’ve still got a say. But I wouldn’t let him in my mind if I didn’t trust him, at least a little bit. He doesn’t seem bad. I know he’s not some innocent little schoolteacher, but if he wants to fight for what’s right, for the greater good of Remnant— well, isn’t it just my job as a good person to help him?”

“The greater good,” Qrow echoed, bitterness dancing in his eyes. “Well. I can definitely see him inside of you.”

“He seems noble, in a way,” Oscar said reluctantly, and he could almost feel Ozpin’s surprise. "Don't you know that?"

Oscar, if I didn’t know better, I would almost go so far as to say that sounded like a compliment.

Shut up, Oscar thought back. I’m trying to talk.

Ozpin shut up. Oscar went on. “He’s not arrogant, really, but— self-sacrificing, and smart. If what he’s told me is true, I can see why he died trying to save Beacon.”

“He died because I didn’t make it back to the Tower in time.” The Huntsman considered his shot glass, tossing back the rest of the amber liquid in a neat flip of his wrist, but his eyes were full of pain.

I never blamed you for it, Ozpin’s voice said in Oscar’s mind, shattered with anguish, before he recomposed himself, evidently remembering that his voice was not one that was spoken aloud any longer. Oscar—

“He misses you,” Oscar said, and the whole room went still, Qrow’s back straightening in surprise, Ozpin’s every thought stiffening in Oscar’s mind.

“He misses you every day,” Oscar continued, his brow furrowing as he looked at the floor, trying to speak from himself and not the part enveloped by someone so much older and wiser than he was. “Every single day. I’m not him— I never have been— but I can feel it, you know? It’s like someone put a hole in my heart, and every day I wake up, it just gets a little bigger and a little deeper, and it never quits hurting. Some of his feelings change, like his hope or optimism, and sometimes his memories and the people in them come and go through my own mind— a woman named Glynda, a girl named Ruby— but the one thing that’s always constant is the way he misses you.

"I'm not really an expert on this kind of thing, that's true... but I can try, can't I? It's hard to remember what normalcy felt like, in the middle of all of this. But feeling his humanity helps me remember. This is all so screwed-up and crazy, and I have a ghost in my head, for gods' sake, but still... I'm not saying it to just say it, but he wants you to know. He misses you more than he misses life."

Oscar, Ozpin said. That's enough.

“I could tell you to tell him that I miss him too,” Qrow muttered, his voice deeper than a growl, “but I expect he already knows, and you can’t really miss someone who failed you when you needed them the most. If I’d been there, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be gone, you’d still be back in your cozy little farm, and we’d all be a little safer. Not being there to save a man’s life— it’s not something you can make up for.” Qrow ran a finger around the frosted rim of his shot glass. “You should get out of here, kid, and take him with you. I don’t think there’s anything he’s got to say to me, not after the Fall.”

“You’re talking like I don’t know you,” Oscar snapped. “I don’t, not really… but if Ozpin’s a part of me now, then I do know you, at least partially. Like I said, he's talked about a woman named Glynda, and a girl with silver eyes, and a bright, shining school... but I think I know you the most, from what he's said. It's not easy to have someone in your head, but the memories he's given me... I think I can trust you. If you’re someone he missed, you must be a good person.”

“Of course he would say that,” Qrow growled. “Ever the optimist— but I expect you know that by now. Always wanting to see the best in everyone, even when their worst far outweighed it.”

Oscar, Ozpin murmured. It was one word— one simple, unassuming word— but Oscar knew what he was asking for. Not demanding, but asking. Perhaps there was a part of him that pitied the old headmaster, or maybe it was just a part of him that wanted these two to get it over with, but he let Ozpin take over, their minds reaching a mutual equilibrium. With that, the headmaster’s words cascaded out of him, the anguish and urgency finding an outlet.

He knew how Ozpin felt, as the secondary one in a mind. He was not important anymore. It was like looking out a small window, unable to move or do anything except to think his own thoughts at Ozpin, and hope he listened. It required an immense amount of trust and faith, and for a moment, he could appreciate just how much trust the headmaster had placed on him.

Talk to him, Oscar thought, but get it over with, will you? This feels weird. I don’t like it, and I want my body back in one piece, thank you very much.

I will, Ozpin thought back, his voice reverberating— louder, somehow, when he was solely in control. Oscar?

Yeah?

Thank you. / / / 

Qrow looked down at him, and frowned.

The boy, Oscar, was gone— behind his eyes, there was Ozpin’s soul, not his. Physically, he looked the same— dark skin, tangled hair, the smooth, unhardened look of a kid who hadn’t yet learned the real way of the world, but his gaze spoke differently. There was the age of centuries there.

“Didn’t expect you to choose a Mistral boy, Oz,” he said. “Your options are a lot more limited now, aren’t they? This kid’s still softer than a kitten. Hell, I bet he can’t tell the hilt of a sword from the point, let alone try to save all of Remnant.”

“He’s scolding you,” Oscar— Ozpin— said, sounding sorrowful. “I can hear him, in the back of my mind… this is how I must sound to him all the time. Just a disembodied voice in my thoughts. It is a poor life, one that is confined to being something even more insubstantial than a spirit.”

“That is a terrible fate,” Qrow said at last, in agreement; his voice flat and inflectionless, “but it doesn’t matter. Why did you choose him, Oz?”

“You should know by now that the one who takes the obvious route is more the fool,” Ozpin responded. He sounded different, of course. The comforting rasp of his voice, the wisdom and the familiarity of his face, were all gone forever. There was just this short, uncertain boy from the farm, with his wobbly, youthful voice and his strange eyes— but he could hear Ozpin in him. His wisdom and the firm, certain weight of his words. “I’m sorry I could not tell you sooner, but this was the only way.”

“You didn’t want to die,” Qrow burst out, whipping back around, his hand cracking down on the counter. “You shouldn’t have died. If I had just—”

Oscar’s hand, with Ozpin’s weight in it, rested on his shoulder. “Blaming yourself only causes more harm in the end. No one wants to end their time on this earth, but it comes about for everyone… just a little later for me, that’s all.” His voice grew softer.

“Gods help me,” Qrow choked out, running a hand through his hair, closing his eyes, but he could feel hot tears pricking them— emotions that the alcohol had failed to eviscerate. “I can’t be talking to you like this. You’re dead and gone, and I have to live with the unbearable realization that you’re gone, just like Summer, gone like the person I loved and the savior we all needed. You’re gone, swallowed up by the unescapable grip of death. You’re gone, and the only thing I’ll ever see will be a pathetic copy standing in your place, a copy who isn’t you, whose life isn’t yours and never will be— one whose life will be kinder and safer, but a copy all the same.

“I’m sorry.”

It was spoken quietly, and Qrow looked up, biting back a heaving breath, spent by his grief. Ozpin, standing small in Oscar’s body, looked immensely old, and immensely tired, his eyebrows drawn down, hair cast over his eyes, strange, dappled shadows dancing over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I… I can make careful calculations, I can try to understand people and the way they tick… I can do everything I can to try and foresee all outcomes, but I always forget to account for emotions… always. I should not have subjected you to such grief. I never blamed you for anything, Qrow— not in this life, or any ones previous. Things have turned out heartbreakingly for you, and I’m sorry for that… but maybe this time, we can go our own way, and heal Remnant. Your path winds long, but I think you may find the end of it.”

The boy reached out, brushing his hand, his eyes so full of Ozpin that Qrow’s heart broke.

“Goodbye, Qrow,” he whispered, his voice full of finality, his face mournful, as he brushed Qrow’s hand before turning around and leaving the room of shadows and dancing firelight, the moonlight spilling in with the rush of cold night air as the door opened. Qrow watched him go, his heart beating loud in his throat, and he let out a quiet breath. A sense of bittersweetness filled him, and two words bubbled up and spilled out from the part of him that he kept under careful lock and key, unreleased except for the few dormant hours in which he slept soundly enough to dream.

“Goodbye, Ozpin.”

[high5nerd]

Alone Together---Chap. Eight

I don't remember moving from that couch, but we were outside in the cold air that night, watching the sky darken and the stars come out. So far that dream I had seemed possible, and I wasn't sure if I was welcoming that idea. As long as we both meant it...that she meant it...I'd gladly have that dream be a reality.

But it was much different. She and I were lying under the stars, hands behind our heads and happily enjoying the silence. Though immune to temperatures, she was bundled up snugly with her jacket, gloves and beanie. She was still shivering from the biting wind. Twice, I suggested we go inside, but she refused. She wanted to see a shooting star so badly, she said she would rather freeze to death than miss it. A comet shower would happen soon, and there was no reason to make her change her mind.

I like how stubborn she is. It's refreshing. Almost amusing as well.

"See any yet?" she asked, wisps of her breath curling into the air.

"No, but that satellite is throwing me off." I pointed to the sky, right where a tiny pinprick in the sky was lazily drifting further to our right.

She laughed, and moved her body closer to mine for warmth. I smiled and teasingly raised a brow, "I thought you said you could handle the cold?"

"Oh come on, it's colder than you would think." she bumped my side with her elbow.

"Short people have a tendency to be more prone to being cold. Nothing to be ashamed of." I teased, looking back at the sky.

"Ugh, God you're annoying." she groaned. I knew she hated being shorter than me. I couldn't blame her. I was a massive six foot three feet tall. She was a shrimp compared to me. Okay, maybe not a shrimp, but a head shorter than me.

I chuckled, knowing she was smiling along with my dry humor.

But then across the sky shot a bright, wicked star. A white-hot tail left its mark quickly in a matter of milliseconds before dying out again.

"Saw one." I grinned, making a silent wish.

"Darn! I missed it." she snapped her fingers, but then turned her head to mine and asked, "What did you wish for?"

"...I honestly don't know what to wish for." I blinked slowly. My mouth seemed to say the words without my brain registering what I was speaking. I was still thinking about the beauty of that shooting star.

"Really?" she looked up, looking quite surprised, "Not anything?"

"Nope."

"Not power, fame, connections...anything?" she was starting to give me a suspicious look.

"...Well, there is one wish. But I know it will never happen." Yep. My mouth was no longer connected to my head. It was foolishly flapping all on it's own while my brain is shouting at me to shut up and not let this woman see inside myself.

Damn her and her kindness. Damn it all for making me so vulnerable.

"What would it be, even if it would never happen?" she asked, rolling onto her back again, inches away from me. Darn. I liked having my arm draped around her shoulders.

I thought about it for a while, maybe a good two minutes before finally-and quite truthfully-telling her. Before I gained control of my own being, the fearlings would often whisper and hiss in my mind that the Boogeyman must be the strongest of all spirits, showing not only no mercy, but no feeling and no honesty. And for a while...I believed that. I soon found it disgusting and disturbing to see others confessing feelings or sharing personal thoughts that would have no beneficial improvement on their current predicament. It still slightly irks me. Where I'm from, men refused even the slightest 'are you alright' questions. It was because even at birth, we're born to be warriors. We were born to be strong, fearless pilots of the spaceships and fight off the darkness that consumed every constellation in the universe. That is, until I...uh, switched sides.

But this world was different from the one I was from. In some ways, even brave soldiers confide in each other and those they trust. Humanity here had a strong connection to their thoughts and feelings...which in a way is beneficial to us spirits as well. Fear, dreams, hopes, wonder, memories...they all came from the whispers of trust.

Maybe Alice was one of those people I could confide in.

"A family."

It was quiet. She stared at the sky, her mouth unmoving, closed in thought. I looked over at her. Maybe I shouldn't have truthfully told her what I wished for...it definitely wasn't 'Boogeyman' material.

She finally looked at me, and I felt my heart stop. It even ached seeing her tears. She gave a small smile before wiping her tears away.

"Me too."

There was another warm silence between us, nothing too bothersome. Well, maybe it was slightly bothersome to her. Because right as I was about to open my mouth and change the subject, she blurted out, "Not that Sadie isn't family. I just...I just want Mom and Dad back."

"I know." I said, looking at her seriously.

"Do you remember your parents?" she asked, almost whispering it out so I couldn't detect her voice wavering.

"I'm willing to change the subject if this bothers you, Alice. Really." I stated, and it made her smile, at least.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm okay. Trust me...Well?"

Honestly, the only memory I have of my parents back in the Golden Age was when they attended the ceremony of my becoming of a general and their hopeful faces as I left the piers to fight the fearlings...I couldn't even recall their first names besides Mother and Father. I can't even remember if I had any siblings. Sad, isn't it?

So when I told her that, she looked surprised. Then after more explanation of what era and universe I lived in before here, she seemed to understand. I could tell not by her nodding, but by that twinkle in her eye.

"So you're as old as the mountains and rivers, basically. I can't blame you for the memories fading away."

I raised a brow at her, smirking, "Hey, I'm not as old as Pangea, missy."

"I wasn't implying that." she laughed, nudging me with her elbow as she sat up.

"It sure sounded like you were. Well, in a poetic way," I sneered at her, "which doesn't ease the insult any better."

"So how old were you before you became yourself?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Again, I had to think about it. Let's see...became an officer at nineteen...married at twenty two...general at twenty four...father at twenty five…

"Thirty, at least." I finally said.

She laughed and touched the hair on my head, "Oh, so those aren't highlights?"

I blinked, eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" I couldn't help but feel shivers run up and down my spine as her fingers played with my hair. It oddly felt good.

She gave a quite attractive, mischievous grin before saying cheekily, "You've been under a lot of stress for all these years, huh? It's showing handsomely in your hair."

Immediately my hands flew up to my hair and covered it, causing her to roll back and laugh, covering her mouth to quiet herself before Sadie could hear us outside when she was supposed to be sleeping. I glared at her, trying to hold back a smirk. Cheeky wench.

"At least you said handsomely. Besides, you have no idea what stress is like when you're immortal." I huffed, sitting up myself.

She finally calmed herself and nodded, "Yeah, I give you full credit for that. You're pretty strong."

I smiled and looked away, pulling out green blades of grass and throwing them somewhere else, away from me. She watched me for a while before giggling out, "Not good with compliments, huh?"

"Nope. Never have been, never will." I winked at her, and she gave one last beaming, white smile before getting up.

"Come on, I need sleep myself. You wanna spend the night again?" she asked, helping me up gracefully.

"I think I've earned that right after you pointed out my greying hair." I pouted, and it caused Alice to smile again.

"Call it peppering. I think it's very pretty with your hair, since it's already dark. It gives it shape."

"Oh, so now you're a hair stylist?" I laughed, causing her to roll her eyes at my playful jab.

Meanwhile, Sadie peered out the window as we walked towards the patio once more, the moonlight making the backyard bright enough to show that her beloved sister was in fact smiling and having fun. She smiled to herself and turned to Sanderson, who was happily sitting Indian style on her bed with children's playing cards spread out on her quilted bed.

"I'm glad Pitch is making Alice happy." she sighed, jumping back onto the bed and picking up her cards.

Sandy nodded as well, his smile showing just that. He put down an ace with fishes, and Sadie snapped her fingers disappointedly.

"Is this his first time talking with real people?" Sadie asked, drawing two cards from the thick deck.

Sandy touched his chin in thought, his mind reeling backwards in time to recall such events. Finally, he shook his head and held up two fingers.

"Second? What was the first time?" Sadie raised a brow, accidentally bending a card between the pads of her fingers.

Sandy conjured up an image of Jamie Bennett, and Sadie immediately recognized him. She beamed brightly, "The storyteller? He really met Pitch? That's so cool!"

Sandy silently laughed, his sparkling eyes crinkling with amusement. Through his chuckles he pointed at her cards to pick, and she quickly put down a five of jellyfish before slapping the deck, making Sandy crinkle his nose teasingly. Sadie giggled before moving her left card over to her right hand.

"Someday, can I meet North and the others?" Sadie asked, hushing herself when she heard the sliding door of the patio open, following the murmurs of her sister and Boogeyman friend.

Sandy raised a golden eyebrow, intrigued at the question. North hasn't ever had children over at his place, not even Jamie Bennett. The big man himself also knew how much Sadie meant to Sandy, for she was his Devout Bond. Maybe he would allow her to visit the place, just for a while.

Sandman smiled and gestured to her, his way of saying, Like right now?

Sadie gasped as her smile grew wide, "Yeah! Right now!"

Sandman nodded excitedly and jumped up, Alright! First we'll stop by the Island of Sleepy Sands, and then we'll take a ride in the Dream Ship to Santoff Claussen, okay?

Sadie quietly cheered as Sandy opened the window and morphed golden stairs to help them leave the room. After a quick shake of his finger, Sadie retrieved her white winter coat and light blue mittens. She was so filled with excitement, she ran up the stairs and onto the stingray that flapped slowly in the air, waiting for it's passengers to board. This wasn't the first time Sadie had a ride on one of these magical beasts, it might have been her fifth or sixth. She always loved late-night rides like this with the Sandman.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her light blue scarf and hat she forgot before following her to the stingray. Behind him, the window shut closed firmly, and the sand stairs fell to nothing once more, but a pile of glowing sand, barely visible to the naked eye.

[limey-blue-arty-do]

When Life Gives You Limes - Chpt 4

Summary: The writer has to survive in the Star Wars: Rebels universe without breaking the plot or the Ghost crew’s patience. Turns out it’s easier harder oh god so much harder than it sounds.

Word Count: 2272

Engines humming, the Ghost drifted down to a wide patch of dirt, a beaten down path leading away to a humdrum drab of a village. Tarkin-town, visible in the distance as the ramp for the Ghost’s cargo bay dropped open into hot midday (?) air.

“Pull your weight, grab a crate”, I mumbled under my breath as I joined Sabine and Ezra in taking the supply crates that I dimly recognised from being taken from the Star Destroyer. If the two heard my remark, they didn’t mention it, simply got about their business in pushing the crates toward the village.

As I followed behind them, Zeb clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“Come with me”, he said, nudging me in a different direction.

We walked down between the corrugated metal huts, and people, human, Rodian, Sullustan, and others whose names I couldn’t recall, came out to meet us. Passing down the sham-street, Zeb would be greeted with smiles and he’d either tell them that supplies were in the main square, or he’d hand out a small package from a bag at his side to those that were slumped on the ground. Food, I supposed, for those that couldn’t collect it from Ezra and Sabine.

The number of those who Zeb gave supplies to began to increase the further we traversed the pathways within Tarkin-town. Arriving outside a larger hut, a curtain with a crude white circle painted on draped across the front, Zeb knocked on one of the hut’s supports. A small Ithorian woman pushed the curtain aside, and her eyes visibly lit up when she spotted the crate.

“Delivery, ma’am”, Zeb said, opening up the crate and revealing dozens of boxes and packages, all with the Imperial crest stamped on them and a medical green colour.

Oh.

As Zeb and I helped the Ithorian woman unload all the supplies, we entered the hut and I spotted a pair of humans, another Ithorian and a Rodian laid out on cots, with who I assumed were their relatives or significant others sat beside them. Zeb directed me in where to put various packages, even as the Ithorian began to unwrap them and hand out medication to her patients.

“I see why you guys went after that Star Destroyer now”, I said quietly to Zeb.

“Cold season coming up on the plains”, Zeb grunted. “In places like here, it can be deadly. Hera caught wind of transmissions talking about moving medical supplies and we hadda grab some. Otherwise the kids and old folks out here will freeze or choke or just slowly die.”

We took the empty crate with us – although patrols were rare out here apparently, it was better safe than sorry. It’d be used on the Ghost for storage, or it’d be ditched in a back alley in one of Lothal’s many towns, according to Zeb.

Something about being in the hospital hut had made something click in my head, something horribly heavy and tragic and real. I trudged along beside Zeb, looking back over my shoulder at the hut, heavy weights in my stomach and thick air stuck in my throat. As Zeb glanced back to me, brows furrowed and mouth open to say something, his expression abruptly shifted from annoyance to confusion.

“You crying, kiddo?”, he asked. I blinked, and watched my vision blur, a couple of tears sliding down my cheeks. Slowly, the sensation in my throat began to tighten. Hugging my arms, I felt a cold numbness settle in my stomach and my eyes water over.

A hand squeezed my shoulder.

“I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve been to a place like here”, Zeb said softly. Having heard the Lasat only speak in gruff tones up until now, the gentle nature of his words took me by surprise. Rubbing my nose with my sleeve, I nodded slowly.

“I’ve known things were bad, under the Empire”, I spoke slowly. “I just couldn’t do anything about it. But now I can, I can help.” Another sniff, another wipe across my face. “I want to help them. I don’t want innocent people to be suffering like this.”

“Don’t we all”, Zeb muttered, before tapping my back lightly. “C’mon, if you wanna help more we might as well get started. There’s a few hours yet before the light goes.”

- 

Back at the Ghost, I could see Hera and Chopper on the wings of the ship, a panel lifted up and Hera working away beneath it. Chopper held a box of tools beside her, beeping quietly in varied tones of complaint.

Whilst I waited at the ramp of the Ghost, Zeb headed in and rummaged around in a locker, returning with an Imperial blaster.

“Nabbed a couple of E-11’s from a patrol a couple cycles ago. Figured Sabine could use the parts in one of her projects”, he explained, handing it over to me. “It’ll do well enough for practise, I figure.”

The gun was heavy, like hauling around a couple of hefty books. With much more weight than an air-rifle, it was all chunky and thick. Shifting it about in my hands, I held it up, looking through the scope.

“Watch it kiddo. Don’t go jumping right into it”, Zeb said hurriedly, nudging the muzzle of the blaster toward the ground. “Let’s not accidentally set something off or break anything.”

“Right, got it”, I said. No accidentally shooting people or the ship.

“So, before we shoot anything, we gotta check the blaster’s in condition to fire”, Zeb explained, holding up the blaster so it lay across one of his hands and both of mine. “Safety, ammo, and making sure the muzzle ain’t cracked.

“Safety is fairly easy. This is for Stormtroopers after all, trigger-happy folk who don’t need to think too hard or aim.” A wide smirk spread across his face, and I joined in his amusement with a smile of my own. “You thumb down this ‘ere button behind the muzzle, and then you’re ready to go.” I nodded, but didn’t turn the safety off straight away.

“So, uh, why were you worried I was going to shoot anything when you gave this to me?”

“Because if you do try to shoot something with safety off, you get a nasty rebound that could break your arm in two”, Zeb explained bluntly. Ah, that would explain it.

“Ammo. You get five-hundred plasma shots for each cartridge. There’s already one slapped in there, so you got that sorted”, Zeb pointed out the cartridge in the side of the blaster. “Then there’s routine check of the muzzle. If you got cracks in the muzzle, the discharge will go off in your face and you can say bye-bye to your eyebrows. And most of your face, really.”

“Terrific”, I said flatly, starting to hold the blaster further away from my head. Zeb let out a full guffaw.

“This is just the stuff to make sure your blaster’s good for shooting the enemy. The whole muzzle exploding is a worst-case scenario. But your face-” He broke off to laugh again. “-oh, your face was amazing.”

My lips tightened, turning into a flat scowl, and I glared up at Zeb.

“Are you done?”

“Sure, sure. No need to get snippy.”

Zeb crouched down next to me, pulling his Bo-rifle from his back and sighting down it.

“You’ve got the basics, now try firing at those rocks over there”, he said. I followed his sightline, spotting a clump of rock structures a good few metres away from the Ghost.

Hefting the gun up, I aimed toward the rocks, picking out the widest one – width provided a larger target. Thumbing down the safety, I closed an eye and looked down the scope on the gun.

Caught in the crosshairs.

PEW

The recoil bounced into my arm, lighter than I’d expected. But then again, I was firing plasma instead of bullets.

“Well that was awful”, Zeb muttered.

“How come? I hit the rock, didn’t I?” Had I? I glanced over at the rocks again. They hadn’t been touched. However, there was now a blackened patch of grass a foot away from the rocks.

“You gotta keep your aim up”, Zeb told me, holding up his Bo-rifle and aiming as well. “Don’t let your arms drop, or else your shot will end up lower than you want it to be.”

KRCHAW

With a yellow crackle and the stink of ozone, the Bo-rifle let out a blast of it’s own, cracking one of the rocks and letting splinters fall free.

“Your turn again, kiddo.”

Gulping back a nervous lump, I hefted the gun up again.

PEW

Another black patch was scorched in the ground. Zeb let out a tired huff, and aimed his Bo-rifle.

KRCHAW

The previous rock now cracked into pieces completely.

PEW

More scorched ground.

KRCHAW

Another rock bit the dust.

Around and around this cycle went until any nervousness had drained out of me and been replaced with pure irritation, until I eventually raised the gun up high despite my shoulders screaming at me and fired one, then two, then three plasma bolts in one of the rocks.

Zeb looked over my handiwork, and folded away his rifle.

“One thing’s for sure kiddo”, he said, and I glanced up at him. There was a wrinkled smile on his face, a ‘Zeb’ smile. “You’d make an awful Jedi. But you might make a decent shot, with enough work of course.”

Clapping a hand on my back (and consequently making me stagger), he took the E-11 off me and nudged me in the direction of the Ghost. By this point, a pair of moons were beginning to make their ascent from the horizon, despite the sky being still tinged in various shades of red and orange. My stomach was also beginning to make significant rumbling sensations as we walked up the ramp into the ship.

“Come on, ”, Zeb said, placing the rifle into a slit-cupboard within the wall and sliding it shut. “I’m feeling like some grub is well deserved.”

“I second that”, I said, pressing a hand in an attempt to muffle the hungry rumblings of my digestive system.

“Excellent. You can help out with dinner then.”

“Beg pardon?”

Too slow to argue, I followed along behind Zeb through the Ghost’s corridors. Almost hidden in a side-corridor by the communal room, we stepped into the kitchen – pretty much a small square room where items were more stacked than spread out, half of the room taken up by a bench table. Zeb began to rummage through cupboards, sliding doors open and pulling out two round vegetables (?) along with a bag of what looked like rice.

“You chop the onions, I’ll cook up the gruel”, Zeb told me, a pan appearing from another cupboard.

“Gruel?”

“Doesn’t sound appealing?” The tone in Zeb’s voice was one of either insult or surprise. “One thing you’ll learn on this ship is my cooking is the best. That and you don’t let Sabine near the hub.”

I felt like I shouldn’t question that, and focused my attention on the onions. They smelt like onions at least (without the ‘oh god my eyes’ itch), and had the layers of Earth onions (the colours of which were purple-leaning-blue down to pastel plum). At least student living had prepared me for this part of space life. I chopped and peeled my way through the two onions, whilst Zeb worked on the gruel. Granted, I expected to see gruel from films – bland bowls of grey, maybe with solid granules floating in the mixture. What Zeb was cooking looked more like thin rice pudding and smelt heavily of chicken stock. Onions were dropped in when what little liquid was in the pan started bubbling, and the smell only got better.

“Smells pretty good there, big guy.” Sabine had poked her head through the kitchen door, and she gave me a thumbs-up. Hera meanwhile gently nudged her way past the Mandalorian and into the kitchen proper, collecting a couple mugs from cupboards opposite the cooking station.

“I’m going to put on some caff. Anyone want some, speak now or hold your peace”, she said.

“Two for the cooks”, Zeb replied, giving my shoulder a push. I was muted in surprise from both the offer and Zeb taking it up in my stead, but managed to nod in agreement.

Soon enough, the smell of the onion-gruel mixture was joined by the smell of something strong and sweet, as Hera turned on a coffee-maker-esque machine and from it poured out four mugs of thick reddish-brown liquid. Two mugs she left in the kitchen, the other two she carried back out.

“Food looks ready. Bowls are up top there”, Zeb told me, pointing to the required cupboard. One, two, five, six bowls I brought down (it was surprising and possibly odd that there were enough) and each were filled with a scoop of food. Ezra dropped by to help carry the meals through.

There was scattered conversation about the day. Most of it seemed to glance over my head, and there were a few sentences that were started and then broken off with a short look in my direction before going off onto a different topic. The mug of caff was surprisingly rich – the sweet taste similar to red bean soup mixed with the bitterness of coffee. It kept me awake long into the evening, until I was propped up in my bunk with Sabine asleep overhead.

Sleep didn’t come so easily to me, with or without caff.